


Snow Day

by Chocoholic221B



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Kurapika and Chrollo have an alliance going on, Lots of strange alliances, M/M, Please Don't Kill Me, Romance, but it might not be, kind of character death, they can't constantly be trying to kill one another, they work at the same school, you can read the LeoPika friendship as romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoholic221B/pseuds/Chocoholic221B
Summary: The Zoldyck Family Company struck either fear or awe into the hearts of all who heard it. All except its heir. To Killua Zoldyck, his family business was nothing more than a burden he’d been saddled with. But he couldn’t get away. Not now. They were in the middle of a mafia war. That didn’t mean he couldn’t rebel just a little. Enter Gon Freecss: The perfect catalyst. Gon could help him break his shackles. Gon could be his friend. Gon could free -Gon didn’t deserve to be dragged into a war. Gon needed to be kept safe. Killua needed to stay away.Gon didn't share his sympathies. [HxHBB18 entry]





	1. The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> The only pairing that’s even mildly canon here is KilluGon, but you can read into relationships as much as you’d like. Except for KitexMito. They’re canon.

**Chapter Zero: The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship**

At first, he’d been normal. He’d been sheltered, shielded away from the outside world, but the world he had was good enough. It was precious and preserved and tinted a rose color in his memories. Shadowed with a relative happiness that only lasted so long. And then, gradually, it was taken away, even as he gripped it tight to his chest.

When Killua was six, he witnessed his first murder. A man had come to visit his father at the mansion. He’d been dressed up in a suit, with a sleek, black case in his hands, and a nervous fidget in his fingers. Killua would learn later that his name had been Gio when his face appeared on the television a few days afterward.

The door had been left open just a crack, and years later, when Killua put the pieces together, he wondered if his father had done that on purpose. If he had left it ajar knowing Killua would see. If that had been his first step into their world.

“Please,” the man had pleaded, stiff in his chair. “I’ll do anything.”

“You’ve put my family in danger,” his father replied, voice steely. “You risked our operation, our legacy. You betrayed us in the worst way possible, and now you come scraping back on hands and knees seeking forgiveness?”

“I’m sorry,” the man begged, his voice caught just above a whisper, almost like he’d coughed out the answer. “Please, I had no other choice.”

“Your wife was under our protection. Are you saying you believe in empty threats more than our promise to keep your loved ones safe?”

“No!”

“And yet you say that you had no other choice,” his Father reiterated, sounding disappointed like the man was just a child who’d done something particularly foolish. Killua would soon find out that was how he treated all his ‘employees’. That was how Killua would have to treat them as well. Children. No, idiots.

His father steepled his fingers, heaving a sigh. “You know what has to happen now.”

“Please,” the man choked out, “please, I can’t leave her like this.”

“You should’ve run.”

 _Bang!_ went the bullet, splitting the air with the fierce precision his father carried everywhere he went. Violent choking sounds followed as the man struggled to breathe.

“Don’t worry,” Killua’s father reassured, “your wife will not have to suffer your death. After all, you had just run away.”

Killua hadn’t understood back then. Life and death weren’t clearly defined in his mind. All he knew was that the man sounded hurt and that he needed help. So, Killua stepped forward, ready to go help the ailing visitor.

“Killu,” his brother’s voice ricocheted off the decorated walls. “What are you doing here?”

The boy whirled around to face Illumi. His brother stood quietly behind him, his short hair perfectly groomed. Dark eyes peered down at him, and as usual, Killua hadn’t the slightest clue what they said.

“I was,” he scrambled for an answer, “looking for something.”

“And what is that?”

“Something normal people can’t see,” he devised, clasping his hands behind his back in an attempt to seem like the angel he never was. “It’s a secret.”

Illumi stared a bit more, before finally turning on his heel and walking away from him. Killua held his breath nevertheless, as his brother gave him one last piece of advice. “Family doesn’t keep secrets, Killua.”

. . .

After that, his family’s occupation became more and more apparent. Day by day, he seemed to witness things he shouldn’t. Files of people he’d never met, but often saw on the news and such. Politicians, celebrities, and every now and then, some obscure nobodies that managed to worm their way into the mafia. People would come over and speak about things he didn’t understand but knew he didn’t like. Eventually, he was brought into the circle. He met one of the other bosses. With his father’s trained eyes on him at all times, both to keep him out of harm’s way and gauge his reaction.

At age twelve, he learned the truth. He was the heir, not Illumi. Not the eldest and strongest and most devoted member of their family. Not the most insane. Him. He was going to be forced into this life.

He ran. It had been raining and cold and he didn’t give a shit. He escaped thanks to Canary, who’d been hesitant but eventually agreed to sneak him out of the mansion. The young servant suggested the window in her room, the closest one to the road, and with a steely determination, he leaped out and started to run. Past Mike, past the playground he’d used to play in with Alluka, past the iron-wrought gates. He was soaked through within minutes, but he didn’t stop. He kept running, running, running, all the way to the city lights.

His lungs burned as he came to a slow walk. The city was so much bigger than he remembered. Then again, he’d never been alone in the city before. Maybe, he just felt smaller?

His stomach growled, and a hand instinctively falls on it, as if trying to keep it quiet. He scowled. How much money had he taken? Was it enough for a meal? McDonald’s was supposed to be cheap, right?

“Hey, Aunt Mito, that kid was walking alone,” Killua heard a voice call, and he hoped to God they weren’t talking about him.

“Gon, wait!” he heard a woman shout. Killua heard loud splashes as someone ran towards him. The boy suddenly had the urge to break into a run as well, but before he could even push off the ground, someone rammed themselves in between him and his exit.

Warm amber eyes stared undauntingly into his cooler ones. “Why are you alone?”

“Excuse me?” he asked, stepping away as incredulity flooded his face.

“Where are your parents?” the boy continued, spiky hair starting to fall flat as the rain caught up with him.

The young heir raised his chin just a tad in defiance. “Not here.”

The boy tilted his head to the side. “How old are you?”

“Twelve,” Killua replied.

‘Gon’ pouted. He gazed up at the woman who stood over them with a disapproving stance. “You never let me out on my own and I’m twelve too!”

They were the same age? Killua’s interest was piqued.

“Some families have different rules,” Mito explained, curtly, “and in our house, we don’t walk alone.”

“Why not?” Gon asked. The woman sighed, and it was obvious at once that this was a conversation they’d had before.

“Because it’s dangerous, Gon,” she lectured. “This might be one of the safer parts of the city, but there are still lots of bad things that could happen.”

“Like what?”

Even Killua knew the answer to that. “You could be run over by a car and killed,” he spoke. “Or mutilated and tortured by some crazy serial killer. Or be stabbed in an alley somewhere. Or get mugged. Or . . . are you even listening to me?”

Killua’s jaw tightened in annoyance, as the boy blushed in embarrassment. Gon scratched the back of his head and replied, “sorry.”

He scoffed and turned away, ignoring the annoyed pedestrians who had to go around them. “No wonder you’re not allowed to go outside on your own. Your attention span sucks. You probably wouldn’t even notice if someone was chasing you.”

Gon’s shoulders sagged, and his eyes dulled a bit, but then he brightened up again. “But that’s okay because I’ve got Aunt Mito and Leorio and his friend to help me!”

Why would that make it okay? It just meant you were overly dependent on others. Killua didn’t get it. Help was for the weak, that was what his brother told him.

Killua reconsidered. If Illumi said relying on others was bad then it must be great. Maybe, he should try it someday. His name was called and the young Zoldyck looked up. Gon gazed at him with wide, concerned eyes.

“Yeah?” he prompted.

Gon reiterated, “did you run away?”

Shit. Was he more observant than he’d given him credit for?

“What makes you say that?” Killua tried to keep his voice even throughout, but even so, there came a nervous edge to the nonchalance of his words.

The other boy pursed his lips. “Well, you didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I left before it started,” Killua lied. He hadn’t cared enough to take one. Canary had given him five minutes to get ready, and Killua hadn’t wanted to waste time on more baggage.

“So, you’ve been walking this whole time in the rain? Why didn’t you go home?” Gon started walking, and Killua followed without even considering the implications. He usually didn’t trust people so easily, but at that moment, trust seemed unconditional.

The woman that had been with Gon held an umbrella over the both of them, shielding them both from the rain, and to Killua, it felt like she’d instantly taken up a mothering role for Gon and him. She took to it almost naturally, eyes narrowed in concern.

“I didn’t wanna,” Killua replied, hands shoved in his pockets.

“How come?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

Killua’s took a sharp intake of breath in annoyance. “You ask too many questions.”

“No, I don’t. That was only two questions.”

“That’s too many,” Killua grumbled.

Gon frowned, or maybe he was pouting. In any case, he didn’t much like Killua’s answer. They walked in silence for about ten seconds, which Killua would soon find out was the maximum time Gon could be kept quiet.

“I know! You could stay with us!” Gon said.

“Excuse me?”

But Gon was no longer listening, his hands already clasped on Mito’s free arm, shaking it. “Can he? Can he, can he, can he?”

“Gon, we’ve already got our hands full with Leorio and Kurapika,” Mito sighed, exhaustion seeping into her words. “The apartment’s crowded enough as it is.”

Gon pulled on her arm, gazing up at her with wide, begging eyes. “Please?” he said, drawing out the word in that whiny manner of his.

Mito glanced down for half a second, before heaving a sigh. Her grip on the umbrella tightening, as she painstakingly let the words, “well, I suppose, if it’s just for a day,” leave her lips.

Gon cheered, triumphantly, and gave Killua a wide grin. Killua rolled his eyes in return, not daring to smile back.

. . .

“Do you know your parents’ phone number, Killua?” Mito asked as Gon hurried to his room to pick out some clothes for his new, thoroughly drenched friend. The woman had a fresh pile of laundry, and Killua had never seen someone fold clothing as quickly as she did. It was like watching a super-human, except she used her powers for motherhood. Vaguely, Killua wondered what it had been like for Gon to grow up with someone who cared but didn’t obsess over every little thing he did. How would things have changed if Mito had been his mom as well?

Killua shook his head, though the number flashed across his mind’s eyes.

“What’s your last name?” she asked. “Maybe, we can find their number in the phone book, or online . . . Killua?”

He shook his head, shoulders rigid, hands clenched on his lap. “I can’t tell you.”

Mito gave him a quizzical look from where she stood by the window, the raindrops on the glass mottling her face against the light of the lamp nearby. “Why not?”

“What’s going on?” a tired voice asked. A young man, probably a college student, appeared in the corridor that Gon had disappeared into, his blond hair messy and cut into layers that framed his pale, heart-shaped face. He looked a bit like a corpse, the life in his eyes dull enough to give even Illumi’s frightening orbs a run for their money. Killua didn’t want to how he’d gotten like this.

Mito gestured to Killua. “This is Killua. We met him out on the streets, and Gon decided we should let him stay the night and figure out how to contact his family tomorrow.”

“I see,” the man spoke, but this time a tinge of familiarity made its way into his voice. Killua met his eyes, and a surge of panic fell over him. He knew. The blond one knew. But how?

“You have an interesting hair color,” the man continued, sitting down in one of the armchairs and curling up on the cushion. “It reminds me of someone I knew, once. Well, my parents knew him. They were friends.”

“Oh.” _Don’t tell him anything more, don’t let yourself slip up._

“Did you run away?”

Killua’s breath hitched, but he tried his best to mimic the blond’s tone. “No, I just got lost on my way home, that’s all.”

“Home from where?”

What did kids do these days when they weren’t at home? Killua didn’t know. He was hardly let out of the grounds. He was home-schooled, home-everything. The boy filtered through all the movies he’s watched and picked out the pastime he liked the most.

“The arcade?”

“Oh? I remember going there when I was younger. What did you play?”

Mito hit the blond lightly on the head. “Enough. You’re making him nervous. Don’t worry, Killua, we’re not all as welcoming as Kurapika.”

Killua’s brow furrowed at the name. He remembered it from somewhere. Maybe, his family and Kurapika did know each other. He looked like the type to run with the wrong crowd.

Kurapika promptly apologized, saying it was just a force of habit. Bet that habit didn’t earn him many friends.

Gon suddenly scuttled back into the room, clothes in hand.

“I found some that might fit you!” Gon shouted, and Killua covered his ears with his hands to save his poor eardrums from the annoying, green gremlin. “Here!”

He dropped the clothes onto his lap. They were all green. Green shirt, green sweatpants, green jacket, green, green, green.

“You don’t like them?” Gon asked, worriedly, and Killua noted that the boy was dressed all in green as well.

“Do you have anything in a different color?” Killua asked, picking up the shirt with both hands and holding it at arm’s length, a look of distaste playing on his face.

Gon scratched the back of his head, nervously, a small, sheepish smile on his face. “I don’t think so, sorry.”

Killua sighed, heavily, but then stood up and asked, “Where’s the bathroom?” Dry clothes were better than soaked-through, frigid clothes, no matter how much of a fashion disaster they were.

“Third door on the right,” they chimed in unison.

The mafia heir rolled his eyes at the harmony, though somewhere deep inside he was a bit jealous of how well they got along. Mito and Kurapika didn’t look down on Gon like Illumi looked down on him, they didn’t patronize Gon like his family patronized him. They were normal, and it reminded him of something he never truly had.

“Hey!” a loud, deep voice shouted, as they passed each other. It was another man, though he seemed much older than both Mito and Kurapika. He wore a dark blue suit, despite the fact that he was currently in his own apartment, and had the tiniest, stupidest glasses Killua had ever laid eyes on. He had a bit of a stubble, and could probably pass for Killua’s father if he wanted to. “Who’s the kid?”

Ugh, noisy old men. Just what he needed.

Their bathroom was tiny and bland, with a few paintings scattered across the egg-shell walls. There were four cups on the shelf right above it, and two others by the sink, one containing two toothbrushes, another just one. He gathered that the toothbrush off to the side stuck in one of those special containers was Kurapika’s. They were equally pretentious.

Killua stored this information in the back of his head. A great many conclusions can be gathered from toothbrushes, you see, and Killua wasn’t about to pass up a chance to gain more information.

Gon’s clothes fit him well, probably because they were super baggy. Killua threw his drenched clothes off to the side, near the laundry, too lazy to pick them up and put them where they belong. He’d learn soon enough that you do not simply make a mess in Aunt Mito’s apartment.

“Are you sure this isn’t a felony?” the old dude asked, nervously, now collapsed in an arm-chair near Kurapika.

Brown eyes rolled heavenward, as Kurapika replied, “yes, Leorio. I’m certain. We called the police. They’re trying to locate his family at this very moment. It’s not like we kidnapped him.”

_Shit._

Well, obviously. That was what normal people did. Call the local authority figures and leave it to them to solve their problems, but he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn't let his family find him. He needed to get out of here.

. . .

He stayed in Gon’s room that night. The other boy had given up his bed for him, conceding to sleep on the floor in a sleeping bag. Killua had worried he might accidentally fall asleep after all that had happened that day. He felt reasonably worn out by the time they all turned in for the night. The Zoldyck heir needn’t have worried, however, because the Freecsses were notorious snorers.

Gon inhaled again, letting out a cross between a pig snort and a lion roar. It was monstrous and terrifying and made Killua jump a little each time.

So, nope, no sleep for him tonight.

Now all he had to do was slip out of bed, and make a frantic dash for the exit.

His feet hit the cold floor and he quickly tiptoed outside.

Shit, he was still wearing Gon’s clothes. He couldn’t be seen like this. The color totally clashed with his hair. But, his clothes were still wet.

He heard the sound of Gon shifting in the sleeping bag, and that was all he needed to burst into a sprint. Door, door, door, where’s the effing door! Dammit, even his night vision was failing him.

The lights in the living room suddenly turned on, and Kurapika sat quietly in the armchair near the light-switch.

“Where are you off to so late at night?” he asked, voice low and even. He acted so calm and cool that Killua felt as if he was talking to his father suddenly. Not Illumi. Illumi was a completely different calm.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m going home.”

“No, you’re not,” Kurapika replied.

“How would you know?” he murmured, eyes averted. “I am.”

“Because you’re a Zoldyck.”

Killua’s head snapped up at the name.

Kurapika smiled a humorless, wry little thing. “No child wants a part in the mafia.”  

The boy turned away again, face contorting in some sort of pain. “Whatever, I’m leaving. You’re going to send me back there if I stay, even if you know what’s really going on, so there’s no point. I’d just be going around in circles.”

“And what do you suppose will happen if one of your enemies find you?”

“Like you care.”

“Gon cares, Leorio and Mito do too,” Kurapika replied, leaning forward and clasping his hands in his lap. “I care by association. You walk through that door and you put everyone who’s helped you in danger. Do you really want that burden on your back?”

Killua flinched. “And what will waiting for my family help? It’s not like this place is immune to attack. They might get to us before my family does. We’d be sitting ducks.”

Kurapika shook his head. “You know as well as I do this part of town belongs to the Zoldycks. Which means no matter where you go in these premises, they’ll find you.”

The boy bit his lip and let himself plop down on the floor. He brought his knees to his chin, arms circling around them.

“I don’t want to go back.”

“Then you shouldn’t have run away.”

A slipper came flying at the man and successfully hit Kurapika over the head. Leorio scrambled to pick it up and pointed it at his friend.

“I thought you said you’d let the poor kid off the hook,” Leorio claimed, his black cat slipper waving at Kurapika.

“I said as long as he didn’t do anything suspicious.”

“It’s three am!” Leorio screeched. “What? Were you waiting for him to make a mistake this whole time?”

It was Kurapika’s turn to avert his eyes. “You could say that.”

Leorio’s shoulders went slack all of a sudden, and Killua couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the regret, feel it, as he spoke, “I thought they were getting better.”

Kurapika wrapped his arms around himself. “I thought so, too.”

“What’s going on?” Gon entered, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. “It’s so late.”

“What are you doing up?” Leorio asked, hands on his hips like a father ready to make a lecture.

“It’s not my fault you’re so noisy,” Gon grumbled. His eyes fell on Killua by the door and he quickly put the pieces together. “Killua? Where are you going?”

“Killua was just going out to get some fresh air,” Kurapika answered for him, eyes staring straight into Killua’s mind, twisting it to his will. “Why don’t you accompany him, Gon?”

“Oh, okay!” Gon replied, cheerily. He walked right out of the apartment, past the stunned Killua. Then, realizing the other boy wasn’t following him, he poked his head through the door. “Killua. Aren’t you coming?”

Killua’s mouth moved on its own, though his brain itself felt like a pile of slush sliding around in a styrofoam cup. “Uh, yeah.” His limbs moved on their own as well, and he pondered when he’d last been completely on autopilot for reasons other than being dead inside.

The boy walked a few steps faster than him, a slight spring in his step that had no place so early in the morning.

The boy suddenly turned towards him, moving closer now. “Are you okay, Killua?”

“Huh?” he started, and his head snapped up to Gon’s eye-level.

“You look worried,” Gon said. “And your face is super pale.”

He glanced away, towards the dull cream-colored walls of the corridor. “It’s always like that.”

“It wasn’t like that when we met,” he frowned, eyes squinting. “Are you sick? Is that why you need fresh air?”

“No.” He passed him, heading for the stairs that would lead outside, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Was it too stuffy in the apartment?”

“No.”

“Did you stay in the shower for too long?”

“No.”

“Are you worried about meeting your family again?”

“N - what?” Killua asked, eyes falling back on Gon. It was so strange to see him hit the nail on the head, though he’d done so several times already. That was it then. Gon was just easy to underestimate.

The boy grinned. “Did I get it right?”

Killua scoffed and continued walking. “This isn’t a contest.”

“I know,” Gon reassured, running to catch up to him. They walked side-by-side now, and Killua could practically feel the positive energy radiating off the other boy’s skin. “But I got it right, right?”

Killua grit his teeth, jaw tightening, and that was enough for Gon.

“You don’t like your family.”

“It’s not . . .” Killua trailed off. “Okay, maybe I hate my older brother a bit, and my other older brother is a pain in the ass, but my younger brother is okay. But it’s not like I’d miss any of them if I left. Except for Alluka, but I’ll come back for her later, and then we’ll both be free.” He smiled at the thought, blissful for once. It’s what really kept him going. Freedom, not just for him, but mainly for Alluka. No one in his family would accept her, and it might be hard for them to be separate, but he couldn’t support both him and his sister. It was better to get his feet on the ground first, and then come back for her. And then, they could get as far away from there as possible.

“What about your parents?”

Killua’s face fell.

“You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to,” Gon added, quickly.

Killua rolled his eyes. “Idiot. If I wasn’t going to answer your questions, I would’ve clammed up long ago. My mom sucks, and my dad’s okay, I guess, even if he expects a lot.”

His friend - friend? - deflated a bit. “Better than no expectations.”

“Huh?”

“My father left a long time ago, and my birth mom died a few months after I was born,” Gon explained. He laughed, suddenly, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. “It’s okay, though. Mito is the only mom I need. And I don’t blame dad for leaving. He wanted to become an archaeologist, and he couldn’t raise a kid at the same time. Not as well as he’d like to, probably. It must be a pretty cool job.”

Killua didn’t know about that. Sweaty, messy, muddy job spent under sun and moon alike, freezing sometimes, hot like hell other times. And the rest, you’re stuck somewhere writing reports or some shit. No thanks.

“I’d like to see what it’s like someday,” Gon said, as they walked out into the courtyard between the two apartment wings. “Just to see what it was about it that made my dad leave.”

The Zoldyck heir couldn’t help to stare a bit. All his life he’d tried to separate himself from his family. He hadn’t really thought of what it was like for people who wanted to connect with that side of themselves. He didn’t really get why they would want to. Hell, what if they found out their family was full of assholes?

“Hey, the sky’s clearing.” Gon’s head was tipped back a bit now, his mind chasing out all thoughts of his father. “Too bad you can’t see any stars. Back when we lived with my grandma, we could see them all.”

“Why’d you move?”

Gon’s nostalgia was replaced by downcast eyes and a small frown. “A few months ago, my grandma passed away, and Aunt Mito didn’t want to stay there anymore. My dad rented out an apartment for us and got Aunt Mito a job in the city. We haven’t been back to visit since.”

“That must’ve been tough.”

Gon shook his head. “It was harder for Aunt Mito than for me. She was the one who had to figure everything out. She didn’t want to accept Ging’s help at first, but in the end, she couldn’t find a cheap enough place for us to stay, so she ended up having to listen to Ging. She was really mad about that.”

“What about those other two?” Killua asked. “What’s their deal?”

Gon pursed his lips as he tried to come up with a proper way to explain the craziness of ‘the other two.’ “Leorio and Kurapika? Leorio is Aunt Mito’s brother. Kurapika was his roommate in college. They’re going to start teaching at the local high school in the fall and wanted to check up on us while they still had time. Well, Leorio wanted to check up on us, and he dragged Kurapika along to get him out of the house.”

“Do you know anything else about the blond one?”

“Anything else?”

Killua shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s just that he seems familiar, that’s all. Do you know anything about his family or something?”

Gon’s nose scrunched up in thought. “Not really. I don’t think he’s ever mentioned them, actually. We could ask Leorio. He knows him a lot better than I do.”

“The old man? I’d rather ask a rampaging rhino.”

Gon snorted at the nickname. “He’s not that old. He’s Kurapika’s age.”

The boy’s mouth nearly flopped ajar. “What? No way! He looks like he’s hitting his forties or something! Is Kurapika really old, too? He looks like he’s just entered college.”

“He’s twenty-three,” Gon replied.

“He looks pretty worn out, too,” Killua said. “Is he always like that?”

“No, he’s just been having some trouble sleeping, I think. He has a lot of nightmares. Plus, he’s already making plans for the new year. I think he just wants to have a ton of back-up plans in case Chrollo and his gang strike up some chaos.”

“Chrollo?”

Gon nodded, grinning. “Kurapika _hates_ him. He’s the new librarian at the high school. He used to go to the same college as Leorio and Kurapika, and the three of them got off on the wrong foot.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not completely sure. Kurapika hates talking about him, and Leorio doesn’t out of courtesy for Kurapika.”

“It sounds like he just hates talking in general.”

Gon laughed at that, and Killua was back to staring for a few seconds, before he, too, started to laugh. It wasn’t even that funny. It was just Gon being an idiot. His laugh was contagious, dammit.

As their laughter died, it was replaced by a comfortable silence, as they both sat on the steps of the apartment building. They were dry, protected by the overhanging gable roof. A little ways away from them the grass and cement pathways were all soaked through. It was quiet save for the passing cars hidden on the other side of the building, and Killua had a rare brush with peace. The chaos in his head seemed to settle down for a while.

“Hey, Killua?” Gon broke the silence, staring up at the sky still, his pose so unchanging started to wonder if he’s spoken at all.

“Yeah?”

“We’re the same age, right? Where do you go to school?”

Killua stiffened, loosened up, and glanced away. “I’m homeschooled.”

“Homeschooled? So, you don’t go to school?”

He shook his head, his gaze firmly planted on one of the potted rose bushes nearby.

“Cool!” Gon squealed. It was a high-pitched, delighted little shriek that came close to making Killua’s ears bleed. “So, you don’t have to go to school at all? You’re taught by your parents or something?”

“My brother teaches me most things,” Killua mumbled.

“Brother? The one you hate?”

He nodded, and Gon pouted.

“I’d hate to be taught by someone I don’t like. All my teachers have been really nice so far.” His face suddenly lit up. “I know!”

Killua jumped a little at the sound. Way to ruin the mood, Gon.

“Why don’t you ask your parents to go to the same school as me?”

“Why would I wanna do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Gon shot back. “You’d get away from your brother’s teaching and meet tons of new people. Plus, if it’s out you want, it’ll be easier to leave with them not watching your every move.”

That was . . . actually a sound argument. One that only worked in theory.

“They’d never let me go.”

Gon waved the worry away. “We have a Kurapika. They’ll let you go.”

The hell was that supposed to mean?

. . .

The next day, well, a few hours later honestly, Killua found out what he meant. Kurapika sure knew how to push someone into a corner.

“So, let me get this straight,” Kurapika sighed, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his armchair. “Your brother ran away from home, felt more at home with five strangers than he ever did with you, and then asked us to help him get into the local middle school because his family forbid him a public education. And you expect me to believe that your upbringing of this child is completely suitable?”

“He’s twelve,” Killua’s brother replied, arms crossed, eyes emotionless.

“Even twelve-year-olds deserve a voice. Don’t give them a reason to run away, and they won’t,” Kurapika snapped back, fiery temper rearing its ugly head. Killua stood quiet the whole time, not sure what to say. Kurapika was handling things pretty well anyway.

“What do you know of raising a child?”

“Nothing at all, at least we have that in common,” Kurapika retorted, and for a second, you could see his eyes flash with murderous fury. Damn, this guy wasn’t playing around. How come he suddenly wanted to help him so much? Was Gon really that good at getting people on his side?

Illumi stared back, his face blank, dark eyes bottomless. “I will consult our father. He is the one who makes the decisions regarding Killua’s education.”

“No, Killua will consult his father,” Kurapika amended, his gaze now trapped on Killua, who shrunk back a bit, shifting his weight and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do you have a cell-phone, Killua?”

Killua nodded. A cell-phone he’d left at home, that held only the numbers of his parents and Illumi. A cell-phone they used to track him.

Kurapika ordered Leorio to bring him a piece of paper. The soon-to-be teacher vanished into his bedroom, returning with a notepad and pencil, and a nervous energy in his every step. Leorio seemed to worry a lot. He worried about Kurapika, about Mito, about Gon, even about Killua, who he’d met just yesterday. It was quite possible that he simply worried about everything.

Kurapika scribbled down three series of numbers, each one being pinned to a name. His handwriting was jagged, probably a result of his rising temper, and when he turned the paper over to Killua, he could barely read what was on it.

“Dude, your handwriting sucks,” Killua declared, turning the paper over in his hands so Kurapika could see. The man glared down at him, and Killua shrunk away once more. “I take that back, it’s great, lots of character.”

He rolled his eyes. “Call one of us with the verdict. Text me, I won’t answer.”

Killua pocketed the paper. “Thanks, I guess.”

His brother placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go home, Killua. Mother is very worried.”

Killua shook him off and headed for the door, but then Gon caught his arm.

“What?” Killua asked.

Gon grinned, “I like you, don’t forget about us.”

Heat raced into his cheeks, and he quickly turned away to hide his face. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll probably see you at school anyway.”

“You really think so?” Gon asked, happily, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Yeah, I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Killua replied, arms crossed.

Illumi suddenly replaced Gon, moving between them to get to the door handle. “After you, Kil.”

“Bye, Gon,” Killua said, waving his hand coolly, before crossing the threshold and walking out of their lives for a while, also coolly.

“Father has quite a few things to say to you,” Illumi said.

“Yeah, the feeling’s mutual.”

**. End of Chapter .**


	2. Every Single Day

**Chapter One: Every Single Day**

Isaac Netero H.S. was a large building made of red brick, established in 1938 by a man that seemed far more energetic than half the student population. The dude was, like, eighty years old, and could probably out-run an Olympic athlete without breaking a sweat. Seriously, he was insanely strong, as well as clinically insane. He set up the school with two others, Zzigg Zoldyck, Killua’s great-grandfather, and Linne Hors’d’oeuvre, who used to be mayor of Swaldani City but passed away a few years ago. Netero now had the reigns of both the city and the school, and probably a bunch of other things because no one else other than him had the guts to challenge the mafia.

It was the best public High School in the country, but most people shied away from it because the teachers were, um, less than perfect role models. 

“Remember, Killua,” Illumi said from the driver’s seat, his eyes still firmly placed on the road. “You do not leave the school grounds. Have your phone on you at all times, and do not, under any circumstance, trust anyone.” 

“Yeah, sure, bye.” Killua gave him a thumbs-up, too nervous and excited to be annoyed by even his older brother. He was out of the car within seconds, trekking up the cobblestone path to the humble school building. 

“Killua!” someone called, and Killua placed it immediately as the joyful warmth that was Gon’s voice. The boy bounded down the steps to him, spiky, anti-gravity dark green hair catching the autumn sun. He raised his hand for a high-five, and Killua rolled his eyes but mimicked the gesture. 

“Yo, Gon.”

Gon grinned. “I can’t believe your dad actually let you go. I was worried he’d change his mind last minute.”

Killua smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nah, dad’s not the type to break his word. I knew he’d let me go as soon as he said that.” 

“Said what?” 

Killua deepened his voice to impersonate his father, “‘Killua, are you willing to deal with the consequences of leaving our protection?’ He only says stuff like that when he’s decided to give me what I want.” 

“Eh, your parents must be super protective if they think school is so dangerous.”

“Yeah, something like that,” he replied, eyes shifting from right to left and back to Gon. “So, where do we go first?”

“Homeroom,” Gon answered. “Do you have your schedule? I’ve got Leorio for homeroom.”

Killua checked his phone for his schedule. “Same here.”

“Noice,” Gon said, looking over Killua’s shoulder. “Leorio’s super cool about everything because he wants to seem relatable. If you had gotten Kurapika or something, that would’ve been a nightmare. Kurapika is super strict.” 

“Sounds like him.” 

Gon nodded. “The worst would probably be Mr. Morow, though.” 

“Morow?”

Killua suddenly felt a chill run up his spine. Someone was watching them.

“You know, it’s not nice to gossip.” Damn. He knew that voice. That was the voice of Illumi’s (only) friend. Since when was he a teacher? Was he sent to spy on him by Illumi? He wouldn’t put it past his brother to do something so creepy. 

“Hey, Hisoka.” Now, that sounded like Kurapika. Did they know each other? “Lucilfer’s in the library if you need him.”

Hisoka’s eyes lit up, and he waltzed off in the direction of what Killua could only guess was the library. “Oh, I do.” 

“How do you know where Lucilfer is?” Killua asked. “Do you keep tabs on him or something?” 

“No, it’s an educated guess.” 

“So, you lied?” 

Kurapika sighed. “If you must call it that. Now, get going. Leorio will worry.” 

“He always worries.” 

“He’ll worry even more.” 

Well, they didn’t want poor Leorio to explode from all those nerves.

. . .

“Where were you guys? You’re like five minutes late!” Leorio yelled. 

“Two minutes,” Kurapika reminded. “The clock’s broken.” 

Leorio pointed at him, dramatically. “Kurapika, I cannot believe you. You always tell off you students for being late, and yet you yourself are always late to class.” 

“Just because I fail at something, does not mean I cannot criticize others for failing as well. Beauty of being a teacher, Leorio,” the shorter man replied. He moved to leave then, but Leorio took his arm. 

“We’re still on for dinner, right?” 

Kurapika shrugged him off. Then, he turned to face him with a small smile on his face. “Yes, we are. Au Cheval, right?”

Leorio nodded, hands on his hips as he watched Kurapika leave. He was probably worried.

“You’re going out to dinner?” Gon asked. “What for? Don’t you two usually just order pizza or make something at home?” 

“Yeah, but today’s Killua’s first day at school,” Leorio said. “We want to do something special, so we decided to take you out to our favorite burger joint.” 

Killua shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t bother, old man. My parents probably won’t let me go out anyway.”

“Kurapika called your dad earlier,” Leorio replied, a slight tension in his voice at being called an old man once more. “He convinced him to let you go.” 

“How?” Kurapika was friggin’ scary, that was how. Then again, dad was pretty scary, too.

Leorio shrugged. “Didn’t take much, really. He just told him we’re taking you out tonight, so Illumi doesn’t have to pick you up. Your father said it was cool.” 

A paper airplane suddenly hit Leorio in the back of the head, and the man immediately turned to give the little brat the evil eye. The kid, Zushi, shrunk away, muttering apology after apology and how much it was an accident that he’d hit Leorio. The young teacher just kept that same stoic look on his face, walked over to his desk, and ripped out a referral note from one of those referral books. He started folding it, and soon, he had his own airplane to throw at misbehaving students.

Zushi flinched a bit as the floating projectile landed in his light brown hair. Leorio smirked, and said, “you have nothing on these airplane-making skills, young man!” 

Zushi scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “Sorry, sir.” 

“No biggie.”

No biggie? Who said that anymore? No biggie. 

Killua and Gon finally crossed the threshold into the classroom. It was better lit than most others thanks to all the windows lining two of its walls. It was a math classroom, you see, and the kids needed some semblance of light in that hour of their life.

“Hey,” someone whispered from behind them, “hey!” 

They looked over their shoulders, eyes on a young girl with blue hair and eyes, wearing a colorful dress and a pink headwrap. 

“Do you guys know Mr. Kurta?” she asked, leaning across the table with a keen look on her face. 

“Kurapika?” Gon replied. Killua rolled his eyes. Trust Gon to just answer all their questions. “Yeah. Leorio’s my cousin, and they’re practically best friends, so we know each other.”

“Do you know . . .” she trailed off, eyes shifting around the room to catch some unwelcome eavesdropper. She lowered her voice to a whisper and began again, “Is he really a CIA agent?”

Gon blinked, tipping his head to the side as if he was actually considering the girl’s crazy theory. “No, I don’t think so. If he was on a case he would have solved it long ago and went on to whatever else he had to do. Kurapika isn’t the type to beat around the bush for so many years. Besides, that would probably mean Leorio’s his target, and I don’t think Leorio could outrun the police for so long.”

“Hey, I heard that, brat!” Leorio pointed at him, indignant. “Besides, if my best friend was a secret agent, I’d know.” 

Gon frowned. “No, you wouldn’t. It’s a secret. Even friends keep secrets from each other.” 

Killua stiffened a bit at that before he quickly returned to that casual stance of his. Leorio, on the other hand, cast a small, suspicious glance towards the door, thoughts gobbled up by his best friend for those few seconds. His gaze snapped back to Gon. 

“You really need to stop with your vague yet eye-opening statements.” 

Gon grinned, sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Alright, guys.” Leorio clapped his hands and turned to the board, taking a piece of chalk and putting it to the board. “My name is Leorio Paladiknight.” Curved letters formed his name on the dark green board, filling out as the words left his mouth. “Current  _ best  _ friend of Kurapika K. next door. And you will never be able to read a single thing I write, so you better sharpen your ears. Anyway, attendance time. Anita Arinn.”

“Here.” 

“Paola Azre.”

“Here.”

. . .

Killua and Gon had three more classes together, one with Mr. Wing, another with Mrs. Krueger, and the last with Leorio and Kurapika. 

Mr. Wing was pretty cool, Killua thought, even if he was in desperate need of a comb and didn’t understand that your dress shirt was supposed to be either tucked in or completely loose. He was Zushi’s uncle, apparently, and took him under his, uh, wing when his parents passed away. He was the English professor at the school and used to be the math professor as well before Mr. Bine came in and stole his job. 

On the other hand, Killua thought Mrs. Krueger was quite possibly even worse than Illumi himself. She was a petite old hag aged fifty-seven years, with blonde pigtails and pink eyes, clothed in a dress and petticoat of varying shades of pink. And damn, was she evil. First thing she tried to do was get him and Gon to fight. Killua saw through her immediately, of course. No old hag was getting in the way of him and Gon. She was the gym teacher along with a guy named Razor, though they didn’t have to deal with him much. Anyway, yeah, she hated him, he hated her, Gon tried to keep them from killing each other. All good things. Oh, some guy named Phinks faced off against Razor in some sort of volleyball match. They had to call it off in the end, because they almost injured a student in the process. 

Kurapika was super angry when he heard about that. He called Netero, who advised him to call Phinks’ boss, the Lucilfer guy, which he did, albeit reluctantly. If bloodlust had a name it would be Kurapika-at-the-mention-of-the-name-Lucilfer. 

So, yeah, pretty much just another ordinary school day. Killua thought so, at least. It  _ was _ his first day at school, and he still wasn’t sure what to expect. 

“Killua?” Gon asked, sometime during their lunch break. 

Killua scarfed down another round of french fries. This ordinary food was horrible and he loved it. Couldn’t get enough of it. Hell, if his parents knew about the empty calories he was consuming, they’d freak. “Yeah?”

“I don’t get my math homework.”

Killua’s nose wrinkled. “You’ve already started it?”

Gon pouted, and yes, it was adorable. Shut up, inner Killuas. “You don’t have to seem so surprised. I can be a good student when I have to be.” 

“It’s only the first day. The homework isn’t due until Friday.”

His friend’s head fell a bit, leaving Killua to stare at the spiky ends of his dark green hair. Idiot. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. “I almost failed last year’s math. I got super behind, even though I did all the work, so I figured I needed to start even sooner this year.” 

“Yeah, I suck at math, too,” Killua said. “Illumi is a really tough grader, too.”

Gon’s eyes fell back on Killua. “No way! You’re Killua!” 

“No shit, I can be bad at stuff, too, you know?” 

Gon blinked rapidly, the words  _ Alert! Alert! Mind blown!  _ flashing across his face. “I feel better now.” 

Killua’s face contorted in confusion. Did he find joy in his failure or something? “Why?” 

“Because, even someone as amazing as Killua can be bad at math.”

“I’m not amazing.” 

“It’s not nice to lie, Killua,” Gon said, flashing him another one of those grins.

His face grew hot, and he turned away, unable to meet Gon’s earnest stare. Back home, it was all manipulations and facades. It was strange to find someone so different. But . . . it was a good type of strange. 

Blushing further, Killua tried to divert his thoughts from the matter, focusing on the landscape outside the windows. The leaves refused to change color, even with the cooler weather, and Killua thought their stubbornness annoying. He’s gotten tired of the green. It was too cheerful and happy, as if it didn’t know the world around it was going to hell. He supposed green really did suit Gon best.

Killua groaned inwardly. He hated colors. They made him think of people, and green would obviously make him think of his best friend. Just like gold would probably make him think of Kurapika, and blue of Leorio, and black holes of Illumi. 

He decided to focus on people, then. People wouldn’t remind him of other people, right? Killua’s eyes roamed the lush, green courtyard.  

The terrible fashion sense of the human race never ceased to amaze him. Most of them weren’t as bad as, say, Go - 

Killua shut away from the thought. This was harder than he'd estimated. Which was funny, because this was what always happened. Time to face the beast again. He’d been looking away for at least fifteen seconds now. 

Killua started to turn back to Gon, and as his eyes almost caught his amber ones, they grabbed onto something silver. A man in a suit like the inside of a candy wrapper. His gray hair slicked back, and a gold-encased phone in his hand. He looked up then, and Killua placed his face immediately. That was one Pariston Hill’s men. He should’ve caught on just by the tacky clothes, but the other famiglias hardly ever crossed over to their side unless they were here on business. Even then, what would they be doing outside a high school? It wasn’t like they could take them as hostages. That would mean pissing of both the Zoldyck famiglia, and Netero, along with a bunch of other people tied to both. 

“Killua, are you alright?” 

The boy tore himself away from all the possibilities, most of them apocalypse-level ridiculous and brought his attention back to Gon. 

“Huh?”

Gon frowned. “You look pale. Are you getting sick?”

“No,” he glanced towards the window again, and the man was gone. “I’m fine.”

His friend leaned in close, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Killua moved away out of habit. The other boy slowly backed away again, like a car in reverse. 

“You’re fine, eh? That’s good. I was thinking about going to Retz’s place later. Wanna come?”

Killua replied, though his voice came out a bit dazed, “uh, okay.” 

“A-ha!” Gon yelled. “You hate Retz and her creepy brother.”

“I do?” Killua asked, racking his hate-brain for the name Retz. Nothing came up. “Who is that again?” 

Gon pouted. “Retz. You remember Retz.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“Sure, you do. She likes wearing those fancy clothes and always has her blonde hair in curls.” 

“Gon, you just described Professor Krueger,” Killua said. 

The boy snapped into defense mode. “Did not! Her name is Retz, and she’s homeschooled like you used to be. We met her last Summer at the Festival. C’mon, you remember Retz! You yelled at her and stuff.” 

“I yell at a lot of people,” Killua pointed out. 

“Yeah, but this time you were super angry, too!” Gon insisted, pursing his lips. “And I still don’t know why.”

“She probably just annoyed me,” Killua shrugged, leaning back in his chair languidly. 

“But Killua,” Gon said. “Everyone annoys me.” 

Killua scowled at that. What? Did he really come off as such a human-hater? And he’d tried so hard to hide it, too. “Not everyone.” 

“Even I annoy you sometimes,” Gon pointed out. 

“Yeah, well . . .” Killua’s mind circled around for the proper reason, one that wasn’t as embarrassingly close to the truth as the words that had died on his lips. “I guess you’re just one of the annoying ones then.” 

Gon gave him those big, sad, glassy puppy dog eyes. “Killua, that’s mean.”

. . .

Kurapika and Leorio ran Freshman Biology together, simply because Netero found their team-up amusing. Leorio went to school for medicine, so he knew a lot about biology. Kurapika was Kurapika, and he was full of useless facts and knew a lot about everything.

They passed out some gold-colored sheets and Kurapika rolled through some orders in his policeman voice. Killua skimmed it, figured out it was one of those syllabi and quickly removed it from his memory hard-drive. No need to keep things in there that don’t matter.

“This class is often used as a backbone to the rest of your high school science classes. You are expected to be an active learner, homework will be collected on a daily basis -” 

“I thought we dropped that part,” Leorio murmured. 

“No, we dropped the weekly readings,” Kurapika reminded, “which are now due every other week. We have seven tests each semester, making for a total of fourteen tests. We’ve also got two large projects that we will discuss further as we draw nearer to them. Your final consists of a fifty-question multiple-choice test and two short-answer questions. We will be using Prentice Hall biology for much of the course. You will not be getting hard copies. You will be following along online. If you do not have internet access at home, I suggest you come talk to us and we can lend you one.” 

Leorio whistled, impressed. “Dang, that’s a lot of stuff. Did we really come up with this thing together?”

“Mostly, yes,” Kurapika replied, placing his copy of the syllabus on the hardwood desk. “Though, if you’d paid attention, maybe you wouldn’t be so surprised at the workload.”

“Hey, I paid attention!” 

Kurapika raised a dubious eyebrow. 

“Most of the time,” he added, quietly. The room laughed a bit, and Leorio grinned sheepishly. Kurapika rolled his eyes, turning towards the board.

“We’ll be starting with molecular biology,” he said, drawing a representation of a cell on the board. “I’m sure this is review to some of you, but it’s always nice to start out with a little refresher.”

“Yeah, if you want to be bored to death.”

“Shut up, Leorio.”

. . .

“Killua,” Gon drawled, catching up to him in the hallway. “Are you okay? You blanked out the whole class.” 

“So did you,” Killua pointed out, giving the walls a distasteful look. He didn’t really know what they had done to deserve such animosity, but he needed to glare at something. He needed to keep his mind off the silver man. Needed to focus on something else entirely.

“Yeah, but that’s normal for me. You never daydream,” the boy insisted.

“I can daydream if I want to,” Killua replied. “Besides, don’t you have another class to go to?”

Gon pouted, walking back down the corridor to his class. “Fine, but I’ll find out what’s wrong sooner or later, Killua Zoldyck.”

“Yeah, whatever,” said the heir, hands shoved in his pockets as he turned the corner. He caught another one of Pariston’s men, sitting on a bench in broad daylight, clothed in a shiny blue suit.

Another one? Killua pursed his lips. He should probably call his dad, but that might equate to his immediate removal from school and he’d just spent two years trying to get in here.

So, he ignored them and hoped his family would too.

**. End of Chapter .**   



	3. A War Is Brewing

**Chapter Two: A War Is Brewing**

Illumi came to pick him up after school, saying he’d still go to his dinner with Gon and the rest, but right now, his father had something he needed to tell him. He said nothing more as they drove back to the mansion. The flashy people were gone now, but Killua had a feeling they wouldn’t be MIA for long.

His family knew about them, too. He was surprised they were letting him go out with his friends at all.

“Father is in his office. Mother has a migraine, so it’s best you keep quiet,” Illumi said, as they marched into the mansion, their voices echoing off the pale walls. The entrance was empty and spotless, as usual. Killua never managed to spot one servant down here, and yet, the entire place was always sparkling clean. It was eerie. As if the house was tended to by ghosts.

He ascended the marble staircase. Illumi stood in the doorway, silent and observant.

His father’s office was on the second floor, in the North End. It was a giant room with a domed ceiling, crowded with shelves of books and papers. In the middle. there was a mahogany desk, settled directly in front of the large, bulletproof bay window. His father sat there, the downcast sky behind him adding a sort of solemnity to the moment. Killua took the chair across from him, memories of all the others who’d sat there flooding in.

“Killua, did you notice Pariston’s men on campus today?” his father asked, his hands folded on the desk.

“Yeah,” Killua replied, drawing the syllable out with uncertainty.

“Do you know why they were there?”

Killua shook his head, though he had several theories.

“There’s been . . . a declaration of war.” His father collected some of the papers on the desk and piled them together. “Not from Pariston. He’s just taking advantage of the chaos that will come about from it.”

Killua lowered his eyes. A war? He left for five seconds and the world had suddenly gone to shit. Typical. What was going to happen now? No way were they letting him stay in school after this. And what about Gon? Would he be safe with those guys warring with his family? Pariston’s men had already seen them hanging out together. They would inevitably sell that info to one of their enemies just to stir up trouble.

“You will continue to go to school,” his father said. “None of the families warring with us want to have Netero as an enemy as well. As for your green-haired friend, well, he’s got his own secret service to take care of him.”

Killua’s brow furrowed. If he considered a salty, blond bio teacher and a gangly, probably graying twenty-three year old enough to hold off the troops of their enemies, he had another thing coming.

“So, who’s attacking us?” Killua finally asked, figuring it would get a less cryptic response compared to the questions he really wanted answered.

“Several clans with ties to the Kakin Empire,” he said.

“Can’t we get the Empire to deal with them?”

“We suspect the Empire is backing them,” his Father replied. “In any case, we should all remain vigilant. The men probably won’t target you. After all, you’re just a child, and even they have a code of ethics. Even so, stay safe.”

He really was going to stay with Gon, in the school, his ticket to freedom within reach. Killua held back a grin, giving his father a professional nod and walked out of the room.

“Your dinner is at six,” Illumi said. He’d been waiting there the whole time, Killua gathered. “It will end at seven. That should be enough time.”

He was on a schedule now?

“Fine,” he replied, heading back to his room. No point in arguing. This was good. They were letting him go, despite everything that’s happening. Surely, that could count as progress. Maybe, eventually, they won’t even mind him leaving the family legacy to someone else.

One could dream.

. . .

As promised, Illumi drove him to the restaurant at six, exchanged a few words with Kurapika - Leorio was there, too, but he ignored him for the most part - and then bid Killua goodbye. Gon was there as well. Illumi mostly just gave him that cold look he’d always given him. Gon didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t like Illumi either.

“You’re gonna love the food here, Killua,” Gon prattled, excitedly, as they entered the restaurant. “Au Cheval has the best burgers in town!”

The waitress at the podium laughed. She had blue-green hair pulled into two pigtails, and wore one of those uniforms all cooks wore. Her name tag read Menchi.

“I’m glad you think so. I’m the owner. Our main usher has gone to deal with some things, so I’ll be leading you to your table. Do you have a reservation?” she asked.

Leorio stepped forward, probably thinking of saying something stupid, but Kurapika held him back and said, “Table for five under the name Leorio Paladiknight. The last of us will be arriving a bit later.”

The other man frowned, clearly offended, but Menchi just marked them down on the paper and started leading them to their seats: a round table near the window. It was becoming darker outside now, the sunset outside mottling their table in hues of bright orange and yellow.

Menchi handed them a few menus and then left them to make up their minds. Kurapika didn’t need much time to figure out what to order. Killua decided to order the same thing, as he watched Gon shoot from one dish to the next, each one seeming less appetizing as the boy called them out. Leorio was planning on choosing some sort of BLT burger, but Kurapika shook his head and pointed out something different and forced him to choose that. You know, like a bossy asshole.

The bell at the door chimed and Gon’s Aunt Mito ran into the restaurant, past Menchi, and to their table, her breathing labored. She let her purse fall off her shoulder and plop down on the floor.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she sighed, catching her breath. “My boss needed me to stay a bit later.”

“Oh? Mr. Kite?” Leorio said, teasingly. “The hot one?”

Mito’s eyes widened, her cheeks reddening. She promptly chastised the man. “Leorio! Not in front of the kids!”

“Kite?” Gon reiterated, trying to place the name to a face. His face lit up. “Mr. Kite! Ging’s student? Wah, Aunt Mito, I didn’t know you two were so close!”

Mito turned her face away in an attempt to veil her blushing face. “We’re not. He’s just being a nice boss.”

Leorio leaned in to whisper in Kurapika’s ear like a gossiping teenager. His job must be wearing off on him. “She likes him.”

Kurapika didn’t bat an eye, his gaze stuck to his phone. “Let the woman do as she pleases.”

The other man frowned, looking down at his best friend, his glasses sliding to the bridge of his nose. “You know it’s rude to be on the phone at dinner.

“You know it’s rude to pry into other people’s business whenever you like,” Kurapika retorted, flatly. Whatever was on his phone seemed to be pissing him off further by the minute.

Leorio just rolled his eyes and straightened, muttering something about Kurapika being a prick.

Killua felt a smile flit across his face, heard the growl of a stomach next to him, and wondered where Menchi had disappeared to. He turned and saw she wasn’t at the podium, nor the counter.

They heard the sound of plates shattering, pots and pans clattering to the ground, and they all stood up without a second thought. They made a beeline for the kitchen, where Menchi stood in a defensive pose, two wickedly sharp kitchen knives gleaming in her hands, wielded like weapons. Across from her stood two men and one woman, all dressed in black. The woman seemed to be in charge, as the other two were standing about a foot away from her, waiting for the signal to strike.

“Who are you?” Menchi demanded. She wasn’t afraid, Killua could tell. She was furious. Furious that someone had dared try to cause some public discourse in _her_ restaurant.

The woman brought a hand to her chest. “I am Cashew.” What a stupid name. “This is Luini and Eri. We are associates of her majesty Morena Prudo.”

Killua took a sharp intake of breath. The Heil-ly family. They’ve already struck. But, why were they targeting a restaurant?

“What business do you have making a mess of my kitchen?” Menchi spat, viciously, her back still to them, though Killua was sure she knew they were there.

“Killua,” Kurapika whispered. “What your father said, about a war, is this?”

“Probably,” he replied. “I didn’t expect them to strike so soon.”

Cashew shoved her hands in her pockets. “Our boss is looking for something.”

“What is it?” Menchi said, her grip tightening on her knives. “What is it you want?”

Cashew continued to stare, her eyes half-lidded as if she was half-asleep, a curl of her hair, longer than the rest of her locks, hung near her left eye. “An urn.”

“An urn?”

“It’s something her majesty holds dear,” she replied. “And it’s somewhere in this city.”

Kurapika raised his hand. “Excuse me, Miss.” The woman’s eyebrows arched, and Kurapika continued. “But what makes you think that of all places the urn would be hidden in a burger joint in downtown Swaldani?”

“We’re supposed to go through every building in Swaldani,” the woman said. “We do not discriminate.”

If those words affected him in any way, he didn’t show it. “Will you leave if we can prove it’s not here?”

Cashew returned his emotionless guise. “You can’t prove anything.”

“It’s the Seed Urn you’re looking for,” Kurapika said. “It was made during the Jomon Period of Japan, roughly 1400 to 300 BC. It would take a lot of work to maintain an artifact from so long ago. Not only that, but the Seed Urn has been broken several times already. Tell me? Have you found any traces of conservation tools? Have you seen a glass case holding a giant urn? If you’re looking for a place that fits that description, I suggest the museum.”

Killua wasn’t sure what just happened, but the woman started to reconsider, so he decided that was okay.

“I do not trust you, little blond man,” she said.

“Most people don’t.”

Cashew maintained her uncaring mask of a face, her eyes still half-opened. “I refuse to accept your offer. It’s best you evacuate this building.” Her countenance broke way to sadistic smile. “We’re going to tear it to pieces.”

The door behind them opened and fell shut. Behind them, stood a large man with a buzzcut and dark, squared beard. He wore a police uniform, with a little cow pin instead of a badge, and one of his eyes was surrounded by black paint. Five more police officials came in after him, all in similar clothes, just without the cow pins.

“Arrest them,” he ordered his men. The three mafiosos surrendered without a fuss, Cashew even kicked off a conversation with her guards. Mizaistom turned to Menchi. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Menchi retold the story, with only a few minor exaggerations. Mizaistom listened silently until the end. He asked another round of questions, and she answered accordingly.

“Well, that was boring,” Killua said, disappointed. “They didn’t even try to fight.”

“Be glad they didn’t,” Kurapika replied. He stood next to Leorio now, his eyes wide and alert. “The Kakin Empire’s mafia is not a force you want to antagonize.”

“Wait, the Kakin Empire?” Leorio repeated. “How do you even know that’s where they’re from?”

“Because the urn was made in Kakin. Pay attention, Leorio.”

“So, it could just be some guy who likes expensive pottery.”

Kurapika rolled his eyes. “Leorio, do you know anything about the state of affairs with the Kakin Empire. That urn is a precious artifact of the royal family. It was stolen centuries ago. Honestly, how do none of you know about this?

“Sorry not all of us are history nerds,” Leorio muttered.

A phone rang, suddenly, and everyone in the room jumped to face the owner of the little device. Mito scrambled to pick up, laughing nervously at having sliced through the tension in the room.

“Hello, Mito here,” the woman spoke. “Mr. Kite!” she suddenly called, a hand running through her short, ginger hair, nervously. “Is something wrong? Oh no, we’re fine. Thanks for calling me. A limo? You don’t have to, we can get back on our own. Oh . . . okay.”

She hung up and glared at the grinning Leorio.

“He likes you,” Leorio said.

“I think you’ve had your head stuck in one too many romance novels, my dear cousin. He’s just concerned on behalf of Ging,” Mito insisted.  

Leorio rolled his eyes, bitterness oozing from him like a tangible aura. “As if Ging gives a shit about any of us.”

The woman sighed, running another hand through her bobbed ginger hair. “I hate him as much as you do, but the fact that Kite even gives us the time of day is because he was Ging’s student, and deep down underneath all his selfishness and smelly clothes, Ging cares.”

The room went silent, their faces adorning expressions of perspicuous shock, because Mito had just said something remotely nice about Ging. Even Killua knew Mito’s animosity towards her cousin.

“What?”

“Nothing,” they all drawled.

Through the tension, Gon’s stomach growled. The boy laughed a nervous chuckle. “I guess I’m even more hungry now.”

Menchi walked over to the stove and placed a pan on one of the countertops, a grateful countenance taking her face. “I’ll get right on those orders. Can one of you get Buhara for me? He’s supposed to be in the garden.”

. . .

Buhara was not in the garden.


	4. Assassins Come To Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title

**Chapter Three: Assassins Come to Town**

Buhara would be the first in a long line of assassinations. The murders are careless and sloppy, made only worse by the clear amateur nature in the killings. Crude, animalistic murders, lacking any sort of humanity. If someone told him they were the victims of a man-eating wolf, he’d believe them. Maybe, a werewolf. But unfortunately, it was one of  _ them. _ One of Kakin’s mafia members going around killing people. But why? If they were just looking for an urn, why kill people? Even if they were going to war with them, they wouldn’t go as far as intentionally endangering a civilian’s life. But, if they weren’t a part of the mafia war his father had spoken of, who were they? 

Killua’s brain sighed, clearly exhausted with his overuse of its resources. Maybe, he was overthinking this. Maybe, he should leave it to his father and brother. 

His guard called his name, and he turned to acknowledge the dark-skinned girl behind him, her hair tied into bunches, her black uniform switched out for some casual clothing typical of a teenager. She carried a backpack on her shoulders, where she’d probably placed her go-to weapon, a black cane with a gold handle. Canary and he hadn’t become friends despite all his efforts, but she had started calling him ‘Killua’ now and he considered that progress. Even if they weren’t friends, Canary was easily the one he trusted most out of all his guards. She didn’t answer to anyone, her allegiance was to Killua and Alluka.

Gon appeared out of nowhere, shoving his phone in Killua’s face. The silver-haired heir to the Zoldyck family unceremoniously backed up a few inches at the enthusiasm in Gon’s face. He wasn’t sure why, Gon was always excited about something. 

“What’s that?” he asked, taking Gon’s phone. There was a console on the screen, the title of the game written in bold, black letters. “Greed Island?” 

“Isn’t it cool?” Gon proclaimed, looking over Killua’s shoulder now. “My dad made it. It’s got really good ratings! And the game art looks awesome! And -” 

“Fifty thousand dollars for a game? Damn, Gon, your dad’s a certified crook.” 

Gon pouted. “He is not! Games like these are expensive to make.”

“It’s not like anyone would be willing to buy a video game at such a high price, so it’s not like he’ll be able to make any profit off of it, anyway.” Killua shrugged. Gon deflated, and it became clear that at least one idiot would be willing to buy Ging’s creation for such an exorbitant amount.  

“No way. You don’t even have five dollars saved up on your account, much less fifty thousand!” Killua said. “And neither does Mito. You know what she’ll say if you ask her.”

The boy shrunk inwards again, his grimace deepening. “She’ll tell me to save up and buy it myself.”

“Exactly. Why do you want this game, anyway?” Killua asked. Canary pointed towards her watch, silently telling him to get moving to homeroom. Professionally, of course. Everything Canary did was professional. 

Gon moved in sync with him and his guard. He was slouched over now, probably discouraged. Killua’s gut twisted in guilt, but if he didn’t slash his hopes right off the bet the boy would just hurl himself into a pit of disappointment.

“I think Ging might have put a clue into the game,” he said, twiddling his thumbs, “and I think he wants me to find it.”

_ Sounds more like he wants you to go bankrupt. fifty thousand dollars for a game. Stupid. _

Killua sighed. “Fine. We can start working or something. Maybe, someone will be willing to hire a bunch of amateur fourteen-year-olds -” 

“Really?!” Gon shouted, invading his personal space once more. It was times like these Killua wished he could have some sort of electrical force field around himself to keep people from coming too close. 

“Yes! God, you don’t have to scream my ear off,’ Killua muttered. Beside him, Canary snorted with laughter, but just as quickly as she’d let it escape, she pulled herself back together. 

Gon grinned. “Sorry, Killua.”  _ Liar. You’re never really sorry for anything. _

“C’mon,” he said, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Maybe Leorio knows a place for us to work?” 

. . .

“A job? Aren’t you kids a bit young for that? Whatcha wanna job for?” 

They were in homeroom now, the pale, cream walls trapping them inside the compartment until the bell rang for the start of first period. Leorio stood in front of them, Canary behind. It sort of felt like they were being surrounded by the disapproval police. 

“We need fifty thousand dollars to buy Gon’s dad’s video game. It’s called  _ Greed Island _ ,” Killua explained, casually. He knew what Leorio’s reaction would be. Come to think of it, they probably should’ve waited to ask Kurapika. Or maybe not, Kurapika could be pretty overbearing sometimes. He’d probably tell them video games were bad for children and that they should focus on their studies instead.

Leorio’s eyes widened, his eyebrows shot up into his hairline, as his jaw dropped a few centimeters below where it should be. “Fifty thousand dollars? For a video game?!”

“Yup.” 

“There’s no way you’ll find a job that’ll give you that much. You won’t even be able to make that much in five years,” Leorio said. He was easily the most price-sensitive of them all.  

“Thanks for the words of encouragement, Leorio.”

Their teacher heaved a sigh. “Sorry. It’s just that there’s a lot of other things you two should be focusing on rather than a game.” He lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “Which is right up Ging’s alley, to be honest. The little asshole.”

“I want to try,” Gon said, his voice firm. There was that determination again. The kind that either sent everything crashing down in the end or saved it all. “Even if it does take five years.”

“ _ There might not be any more copies for sale in five years,”  _ was what Killua wanted to say, but he stayed silent, not in the mood to dampen his friend’s optimism. 

Leorio had his dad-smile on again, proud and warm, directed more at Gon than at Killua. “If you’re really serious about this, you should visit the career center. They get a few well-paying jobs from time to time.”

“The career center? Where’s that?” Gon asked. 

Leorio held up his index finger and swiped right as if there was a giant map in front of him. “It’s right next to the library. Just ask to see what positions there are. They’ll help you find one that suits you.” 

Gon gave Killua a hopeful look as if to ask for permission. Killua sighed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll check it out. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

_ Too late.  _ Telling Gon to stop hoping was like telling the sun to stop shining. You could beg all you want, and they would ignore you and do the stupid shit you warned them not to do. Even when it seemed he’d given up, he cooks up a new - stupid - plan and keeps plunging forward. 

. . .

The career counselor was a young man, probably around the age of Kurapika and Leorio. He had a bowl cut of blonde hair, the fluorescent lighting bringing out a strange green tint in his locks. A permanent smile was etched onto his face, his eyes shaded in a color like the pine trees that surrounded Killua’s home. Canary had opted to wait outside until they finished their business. It was one of those professionality things.

“Hey-a, kids!” the man greeted, pushing himself from his desk, rolling away on his chair only to be stopped by a second wall. The career center was rather small, you see. Plastered with motivational posters and bulletin boards, and painted a light green to bring some color into the room. “I’m Shalnark Ryuseih. What can I help you with?” 

Gon answered, “we’re looking for jobs that will get us fifty thousand dollars by the end of the year.” 

“Eh,” Shalnark said, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand, “whatcha need all that money for?” 

“We want to buy a game my dad made,” Gon replied, “but it’s a bit expensive.” 

Shalnark laughed, head tossed back as the laughter grew. Somewhere inside, Killua felt a bit of annoyance prick at him. “That sounds fun! What’s the game called?”

“Greed Island.” 

“Heh?” Shalnark spoke, a bit more serious now. “That’s only available on auction sites, right? Do your parents know about this?” 

Killua scowled, glancing at Gon, who had clearly omitted that part of their little mission. Typical. He should’ve seen this coming. 

His friend scratched his cheek, nervously. “Ah, no, not yet.”

Shalnark shrugged, still smiling as he turned back to his computer. “Well, it’s none of my business. Let’s see what we’ve got.” 

The back door to the office opened then, and a pale, dark-haired man walked in. His forehead was covered up by a bandage as if the man had recently received some head trauma and was forced to wear something of a fashion disaster. Dressed in a crisp suit, the man looked like he was heading out to a business meeting rather than another day at a high school. He noticed them immediately, and they both straightened at the calculating gaze. This guy was a born leader. How annoying.

“Danchou,” Shalnark greeted, cheerfully, “how are you doing today?”

“Fine,” he replied, turning his gaze away from the kids, who almost immediately relaxed. Did he say born leader? This dude was born to be a psychopath or something. There was something off about him. Like there was with Shalnark, but it was even worse with him. “I almost had a run-in with that blonde again. He seemed angry. What was his name again?” 

Shalnark grinned, though now it was more of the sheepish kind that Gon sometimes wore when he was embarrassed. “Kurapika. You’ve known him since freshman year in college, Danchou.”

_ Chrollo Lucilfer. _ The enigmatic library director, the victim of all of Kurapika’s hidden fury. No wonder Killua hadn’t trusted him. Kurapika might be reckless and rude, but he wasn’t one to mindlessly hate someone. This guy must’ve done something pretty bad to get that sort of reaction from the King of Dead-Inside.  

“What a mouthful,” the man replied. “It’s a shame we can’t get along. He’s been getting in my way lately.” 

“You’ve been saying that since freshman year.” 

“So I have,” the man said. He smiled now, his eyes closed in contentment. Then they opened again, and his dark gaze fell on them once more. “You’re looking for jobs?”

“Yes, sir!” Gon replied, despite Killua’s very pointy looks. God, why did he have to be so honest and nice? 

Lucilfer was silent for a second, the wheels in his head turning, considering their usefulness. “Have you ever thought of working in a library?”

“Oh yeah,” Shalnark said. “We’re short two people, aren’t we, Danchou?”

Lucilfer nodded, solemnly. There was always solemnity in his expression. At least in the five minutes, they’d known each other. “Paku and Uvo are still missing.”

“Do you think it’s connected to those murders that have been happening?”

“Most likely,” Chrollo replied. “I doubt they were kidnapped, however. Neither of them would be worth the kill. Furthermore, they’re both far more capable than their opponents.” He looked back towards the both of them. “So, will you join us?” 

“Well,” Gon trailed off, trying to read into Killua’s expression. But alas, no amount of shaking heads would get through to him. “Um, how much money will you give us?” He finally asked, uncertainly. Killua scowled at him. He wasn’t  _ that  _ fixated on money.

Chrollo glanced at Shalnark. “How much money do we have to spare?”

“About five million.” 

“We don’t need that much. I’ll give you 100,000 dollars a year, how’s that?” Chrollo offered. “In return, you’ll help us out with reshelving and other library tasks. Do you have any experience with these?”

They shook their heads. Killua prayed it would be enough to lose this job offer, but alas, Chrollo simply nodded. 

“Don’t worry, Machi can show you how to operate the cash register. She’ll give you a crash course on your first day. When would you like to start?”

Did he just assume they’d say yes?

“Right now!” Gon said. There was no time to waste in his eyes. Every penny counted when it was bringing him closer to his father.

“Uh, we can’t,” Killua whispered. “We have class, remember? We have, like, ten minutes left.”

Gon’s face fell. “Oh, not now. Maybe, after school?” 

Killua rolled his eyes. “Can’t. I have to get back home.”

“Can’t you ask your dad to let you work for a little while?” Gon pouted, though he probably didn’t notice. It was his default face for whenever he wanted Killua to join him on his stupid adventures. 

“And tell him that I’ll be working for Chrollo Lucilfer and his gang? Kurapika hates this guy, remember? That means they must be dangerous.” 

“Everyone in this school is dangerous, Mr. Zoldyck, that’s why Netero is in charge,” Chrollo replied, looking down at him. He didn’t even look offended. “If your parents wanted you to be safe, they’d have chosen a different state.”

Gon took Killua’s arm and shook it. “Please, Killua! It won’t be any fun if you’re not there.”

Killua’s lips pursed as he looked away, heat rushing into his pale cheeks. “Fine.”

“Really?” Gon said, excited.

“Really, really,” Killua replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a deep breath. “I’ll talk to my dad. See what I can do. You should talk to Mito, too.” 

Gon nodded, though it was clear his mind was elsewhere now.

“Report to Shalnark once you’ve made a decision,” Chrollo said. “I’ll be out for a conference for the remainder of the week, but he’ll be able to help you settle in.”

“Leave it to me, Dan-dan!” Shalnark chirped.

The man gave them all a curt nod and disappeared through the back door. Shalnark reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out two piles of paperwork. “You’re going to have to take these home and have your parent or guardian read and sign. We’ll figure out your schedule once you’re ready. You should probably hurry to class now.”

. . .

They were eating lunch when they ordered a soft lockdown on the school. Leorio had been one of the supervisors during their lunch hour, and visibly freaked out at the start, but Kurapika had called him, knowing he was freaking out, and managed to calm him down somewhat. Keyword “somewhat,” he kept eyeing the windows as if some two-headed rampaging monster would burst through the glass. Even if there was a monster, Killua would think they’d be civilized and use the door instead of breaking down some perfectly good windows and tacky cream-colored walls.

“What’s going on?” Gon asked, as Leorio walked past them. 

“They’re looking for someone,” Leorio replied. “They were spotted near Peony’s, a block away, so they decided to put the school on a temporary lockdown.”

Gon’s brows furrowed, as he turned to look at Killua. “Do you think it might be  _ them _ ?”

“Of course, it’s them,” Killua replied, casually stuffing a strawberry into his mouth. “No one else is cocky enough to be seen in this part of town.”

“Do you think they’ll come here?” Gon asked. Beside him, Canary stood, not bothering to eat anything. They’d offered, of course, but she’d refused on the grounds of food only getting in the way. In the end, Gon managed to get her to eat one of the sandwiches Mito always made for him. She gobbled it up in, like, half a second and returned to her post.

Killua balanced his chin on the palm of his hand. Moments like these he remembered Gon was smarter than people gave him credit for. He was snooping around for other people’s conclusions and adjusting his own based on what they say. “Do you?” 

“Probably not,” Gon replied, his eyes lowered to his sandwich now, as if he’d lost his appetite. Which was impossible, because Gon never lost his appetite. “Even if the urn is here, I doubt they’d go in here without a better plan. They wouldn’t have warned Netero of their presence, for one thing.”

“And killing any of his students would just cause more harm than good,” Killua finished. “If it’s really them, they’ll stay clear of the school.” 

“What do you mean ‘if’? You said it was definitely them.” Gon asked. That was the funny thing about Gon, he never demanded anything of anyone else, never judged anyone else. He was just curious, and he did whatever he could to satiate that curiosity, usually in the form of a bunch of annoying questions. 

“Well, it might be some other idiots who haven’t heard about the real deal with this city,” Killua explained. “Though, that’s unlikely, and if it’s the case, they’re probably not much of a threat anyway.” 

His phone buzzed, suddenly, the caller ID flashing across the screen. Illumi’s face and name sent a wave of annoyance through Killua. Couldn’t he get even a little bit of peace in his time away from home? God. 

“What do you want?” he snapped, patience running thin even though the conversation had just started. But was it his fault that Illumi was goddamn annoying? 

“The Cha-R family has made their move against us. I’ll be at the school in ten. Be ready.”

“I thought Dad said they didn’t have any business with me,” Killua refuted. “Why do I have to go home?” 

Illumi replied, his tone only annoying Killua further. “They won’t target you specifically, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be caught in the crossfire.”

“But they’re not even going for the school!” Killua knew half a day missed would lead to his eventual removal from the High School. He couldn’t have that. If that happened, he’d be forced to limit his time with Gon, lose his chance to try something outside of his family’s circle of influence, and probably trapped inside a never-ending cycle of lost dreams and misery as he continued to carry the weight of his family name. In other words, school was his key to the prison cell, and he was not about to let it go. Not even in something as small as this argument. 

“It’s not safe. What would Alluka do, if his precious older brother was suddenly killed in a terrible accident?” 

Killua grit his teeth. How dare he use such a cliche on him? Still, the idea of his little sister hearing the news of his death was enough for him to relent a bit. There was no way he was letting Alluka deal with his stupid family on her own. 

“Fine! I’ll be there! And Alluka’s a girl, idiot!” he yelled into the phone. Hanging up, he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as he resisted throwing a temper tantrum right then and there. It was so not fair. Then again, it seemed right up Illumi’s alley to take every opportunity to keep him away from his only path to freedom.

“What did he want, Killua?” Gon asked from beside him. “What are you so angry about?”

His friend just stuffed his mouth full of food again. “He’s picking me up early.”

“And he insulted Killua’s younger sibling, Alluka, by calling them a boy instead of a girl,” Canary added. 

“Yeah, that, too.” He turned to Leorio. “Old man, are we allowed to leave the school grounds during the lockdown?” 

“Absolutely not!” Leorio said. “You have no idea what’s out there! It could be those guys we saw at Au Cheval’s.” 

Killua rolled his eyes. Having people worry about you sure could be bothersome sometimes. “I’ll be fine. Illumi’s picking me up.” 

His phone buzzed again, and Killua was relieved to find that Illumi had finally figured out the power of instant messaging. 

_ “I’m here.” _

“‘Kay, I’m going,” he said, slipping out of his seat and past a flabbergasted Leorio. Canary followed him, quietly. He waved to Gon. “See you tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” Gon said, a bit disappointed to see his best friend go so soon. 

“Oi!” Leorio yelled after him. “Kid, at least let me walk you out to the car!” 

And that was how Leorio ended up following Canary and Killua to Illumi’s car. And obviously, since this was Leorio, he just had to start up a conversation while they were walking through the halls of the school. 

“So, Illumi’s your brother?” Leorio asked, both of them focused on whatever was in front of them. They earned a few stares from inside classrooms, including an inquisitive Kurapika, who looked ready to walk out of his class and ask Leorio what the hell he was doing outside his assigned post. 

“You’ve met him before,” Killua reminded. “Are you already going senile, old man?”

Leorio clenched his jaw in anger. “Aren’t kids supposed to show respect to their elders?” 

“And who made that rule up?” Killua refuted, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Adults just screw things up for everyone else.” 

Instead of trying to convince him otherwise, or grumbling under his breath like Killua had expected, Leorio seemed to consider his theory. “Well, yeah, but we also do a lot of good stuff, too, and the bad stuff we try to fix.” 

“Not all of you,” Killua mumbled. Then his forehead creased, as he concentrated on a topic that didn’t involve so many feelings. “You know, Kurapika’s totally going to yell at you for leaving the lunchroom.”

Leorio blanched. “I know.” 

“He’s got you wrapped around his finger, huh?” Killua said, back to his teasing self. “Makes the rest of us wonder when the wedding is.” 

“Wedding?” Canary repeated. “If you want to send Master Killua an invitation, you must first talk to his father.” 

“I’m not into guys,” Leorio insisted, as if this was an issue many people liked to bring up.

“That’s what they all say,” Killua replied, bounding away as soon as he was outside and in sight of Illumi’s car. Canary bowed to Leorio once, and then followed Killua to the car as well. He opened the car door, turned, and yelled, “Take care, old man!” 

“I told you to stop calling me that!”

“LEORIO!” 

Killua almost jumped at the voice. He sometimes forgot how scary Kurapika could be when angered. Feeling this was good time to abort the mission, he hopped into the sleek limousine Illumi favored and breathed a sigh of relief, glad he didn’t have to be caught in the crossfire of Kurapika’s fury. From his window seat, he caught sight of Kurapika’s neat, blonde hair, his hands crossed as he berated Leorio’s stupidity. It was funny how such a young-looking man could intimidate someone like Leorio, but that just went to show that while Leorio’s heart was really full of cotton candy and rainbows, Kurapika’s was tiny and shriveled up, covered up in thorns that cut thin wounds in both his and everyone else’s hearts. Even so, there was something distinctly human about him, something that cared deeply for others. In a way, Kurapika might be on par with Leorio in terms of compassion, even though he didn’t like to show it. 

Satisfied with his analysis, he turned away from the window and pulled out his phone. There was a message from Gon. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since they parted ways. 

_ “Killua, wht does ultimatum mean?”  _

Looks like he finally cracked open one of their assigned books. 

With a smile on his face, he responded,  _ “it’s like a demand someone gives you so you can get out of whatever hell you’re in.” _

_ “Oh, thnx killua. Your the best.”  _

Killua bit his lip at the response, not willing to laugh with Illumi there. 

_ “It’s you’re idiot.” _

_ “Tht would be your. And u r not an idiot, Killua.” _

He was caught between blushing and facepalming, and since he was an efficient multi-tasker, he did both. 

_ “Shut up, that’s embarrassing”  _

_ “Killua,” _ came the first response,  _ “u get embarrassed really easy dnt u?”  _

He couldn’t even use proper English. Why was Killua the one blushing? 

“Killua,” Illumi spoke, and Killua’s blush instantly disappeared, thoughts of Gon and his crimes against the English language put aside for now, “are you sick?” 

“No, I’m fine,” he replied, grumpily.

“That’s good.” He could hear the smile in his voice. Illumi didn’t smile often, mind you, but you could easily tell when he was just by the lightness in his voice. Of course, Killua hated this tone just as much as his usual one. “You seem quiet today.” 

“Yeah, so?”

“Is everything going well in School?” 

Killua narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Yes? Why?” 

“Can’t an older brother ask his adorable little brother how he’s feeling?” Illumi replied, turning the corner and onto the back road that led home. 

Killua cringed at the use of “adorable.” 

“You never showed much interest before.” 

Illumi hummed in agreement. “Better late than never, I say.” 

“You never say that.” 

. . .

It was strange enough that Illumi was trying to be empathetic, the fact that he actually left him alone for the rest of the day was downright suspicious. But Killua did nothing to figure out what was going on. After all, sometimes good things just happened. 

“Killua,” Alluka said, as she made her final move on the board. “Checkmate. I win!” 

Killua blinked, looked down at the board, and grinned. “And the reigning champion continues her rule over the Kingdom of Chess, succeeding to beat her foolish rival once more! When will he learn? No one knows. One thing’s for sure, Alluka will prevail.” 

Alluka giggled. “Killua, do you want to play cards next?” 

“Sure,” he replied, trying not to remember his chemistry class and Mr. Morow’s strange fascination with playing cards. 

His little sister scrambled to get a deck of cards off her shelf. Then, she divided them evenly between the two of them. “This is a new game big brother Illumi and his friend taught me.” 

Instant regret filled him at that, but he kept his smile plastered on and ignored the fact that Illumi was still influencing him from afar. 

“It’s called Poker.” 

Killua’s eyes widened. “They taught you what?” 

“Poker. It was really fun. They said that usually bet money when you play it, but since I’m too young and have no many, we just played it with chips.” She frowned, concerned now. “Do you not want to play, Killua?” 

He shook his head. Disappointing Alluka? Impossible. He couldn’t do it. “No! No, no, I’m just surprised that big brother Illumi taught you how to play it. Just remember never to bet on money, okay? So, do you wanna start, or should I?”

“I’ll start!” Alluka said, waving her hand in the air. 

Alluka won after about ten minutes because she was a prodigy and he was not, but it was still fun to watch her succeed, so he played with her. 

“Hey, Killua? Can we play again?”  

“Sure.” 

Needless to say, she won again. And again. And again. And Killua didn’t care, because it made her happy. 

Just as round five was about to commence, the door to Alluka’s suite creaked open, and the head butler, Gotoh, entered with a phone in his hand. 

“Master Killua, it’s for you. About one of your friends. They say you weren’t picking up your phone.”

. . .


	5. Obligatory Chrollo Chapter

**Chapter Four:**

**The Obligatory Chrollo Chapter**

He was being chased by Hisoka. Again. This was nothing new, certainly nothing to write home about. Hisoka had been chasing him for about three years now, ever since his last year in college, where the man happened to run into him. He’d tried to kill him at first, but Chrollo managed to get away, and ever since then, Hisoka was a constant in his life. Almost as much of a constant as the Spiders, and slightly more of a constant than the blond one. His name always seemed to escape him. What was it again? Kurapika. He should remember that. He had many blonde enemies. Them blurring together would be bad. 

“Oh my,” Hisoka suddenly said, pausing in his stalking of Chrollo. He crouched on the tip of the store rooftop, hand supporting his chin. “It seems they’ve got a tail.”

Chrollo’s eyes found the cars in question without much difficulty. One of the vehicles carried familiar looking faces with spiky, dark manes. The other contained passengers not quite as easy to place, but soon, Chrollo recognized them as a few of Morena’s fanatics. Which ones, he wasn’t sure, he’d never been too interested in Kakin’s mafia. 

The two of them tailed both cars for a few minutes until one of them pulled over into a less crowded area. It was Kurapika’s friend, the one with the spiky hair, who stepped out first. Chrollo understood immediately. Operating under the assumption that the mafia didn’t know where they lived, the man figured it’d be best to face off with them before they got home, perhaps even buying the child time to possibly escape. 

Well, Chrollo never expected him to be the one with the brains, but he never thought the man would do something so stupidly dangerous. What to do, what to do? He could save them, but then risk getting into a fight with the mafia as well, which, while it could be fun, was not something he had the energy to deal with right now. Oh, yes, and there’s the fact that he could no longer actively try to murder others, and it was really hard not to murder people, so he’d prefer not to be in a position where his instincts acted up and sent him on a killing rampage. 

Perhaps, he should reconsider that contract Netero had offered them. 

No, that would be foolish. Even they wouldn’t be able to go against the world without significant damages. 

The people in the other car stepped out, decked out in black suits and hats, as any good, stereotypical mafiosos would do. One of them raised a gun. What a shame, this famiglia seemed to lack all originality. 

Leorio, a name Hisoka helpfully supplied, held his hands up placatingly, offering the sign of peace. The assailant with the gun pulled the trigger, and the gunshot peeled through the air, a sound Chrollo was very much used to as a child who’d lived in a lawless slum for most of his childhood. The bullet grazed Leorio’s cheek. A deliberate move on their part. It took someone with quite a good aim to just lightly graze their target. Like he said, it was hard not to kill people.

The two men yelled at each other for a while, and then the mafioso raised his gun again, and Chrollo could tell Leorio wouldn’t be able to dodge it. 

Oh well, it wasn’t like this would be the first time he’d started a war. 

With that same resigned look on his face, the man jumped down from the roof, and kicked the man with the gun in the face, simultaneously disarming him. The other hurried to the car and took Gon by the scruff of his neck, only to have his hand sliced open by a playing card. Gon was out by then, back beside Leorio, burying the poor man in bizarre questions. Hisoka managed to knock out the same assailant who’d tried to kidnap Gon with a brief chop to the neck. 

“Danchou, don’t we make a great team?” 

“Please don’t refer to us as a team.”

Hisoka put on a wolfish grin. “Is someone worried the other Spiders will get jealous of  _ us _ ?” 

“I don’t recall there ever being an us. Aren’t you engaged to Illumi?” Chrollo asked. In the distance, the could hear sirens approaching. He figured Gon had called the police while Leorio was distracting the two mafiosos. 

“Oh, Illumi won’t mind as long as he gets in on the action,” Hisoka said, suggestively, a sly smirk on his face. 

Chrollo frowned. This was not a topic to be discussed in front of children. Guess he had to be stuck with the clown again. 

He sighed, despairingly, and faced Leorio and Gon. “I’ll leave the rest to you two.” And then he went out into the alley once more, barely catching sight of the police cars headed their way. Ah, memories. It felt strange to not be the one they were after. 

“So, Dan-Dan , if you’re ever feeling lonely, you know who to call,” Hisoka whispered in his ear, headily. Chrollo wondered if he’d have to punch him again. That would cause a scene, not to mention probably serve to excite the other man further. Fortunately, Chrollo’s phone rang, and so his ear and Hisoka’s lips were promptly divided by a wall of plastic and glass, and Hisoka seemed to take a hint.  

“Hello?” 

Machi replied, through the phone, her voice strangely hoarse. “It’s about Paku and Uvo.” 

“I see. What is it? Have they shown up?” In that case, he might have to fire those kids before they even started the job. 

“They’re dead.”

For a few seconds, Chrollo did nothing. The noises, the flashing lights, the dark clouds looming above, everything seemed to be enhanced, as his conscious mind sank into disarray. He curled his fingers into a fist, his nails biting into flesh. And then, he exhaled.

“Explain.”

. . .


	6. Killua's Existential Crisis

**Chapter Five:**

**Killua’s Existential Crisis**

“What?” 

Kurapika repeated himself for the umpteenth, and yet, Killua couldn’t quite process the words. Just the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, his throat being twisted up, unable to say anything but: 

“What?” 

“Killua, they’ll be fine,” Kurapika reassured through the phone, and even his calm, restrained voice couldn’t keep him composed. Mostly because Killua could hear all the implications and anxiety underneath it all. “The poison in the bullet was only a paralyzing agent. Leorio just has to stay at the hospital for a few days until it’s flushed out of his system, and Gon didn’t want to leave until he got better.” He seemed to go off on a tangent now. “Perhaps, I shouldn’t have told you like this. I’m sorry for worrying you, but I thought you should now.” 

“Who was it?” 

“Pardon?”

“Who attacked them?” Killua elaborated, his grip on the phone tightening, as he anticipated the answer, and prayed to whatever deity was out there that it wasn’t who he thought it was.

“It’s speculated they’re a part of Heil-Ly family.”

. . .

“Killua?” Canary inquired as the boy shut the door to his room in her face. Then, he felt a bit bad and apologized. Canary didn’t seem to care, saying that where she came from it’s normal to have a few doors slammed in your face. “Are you alright, Killua? Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No, not really,” he said, collapsing on his bed, to which Canary responded with a small grimace of disapproval. Dark eyes met his lighter ones, and he was suddenly forced to spill all the contents of his heart unwillingly. “Gon was attacked. Oh, and the old man, too. He’s hospitalized.” 

“Gon?” 

“No, the old man,” he clarified. Sitting up on the bed cross-legged, he let his shoulders sag a bit. “Have you ever heard of the Kakin Empire?” 

“It’s one of the largest Empires in history, though most don’t know it because they allow all the nations they’ve conquered to operate under their own name, which in turn makes it easier for them to take control of other nations. It’s an Empire by name and in theory, though it has no physical boundaries or other things you’d expect from an Empire. Over the last few years, more and more information has been leaked about it.” 

“Right,” he said, wondering if Canary had realized he actually didn’t know any of that. He’d thought it was just a tiny nation in the East. Though, he supposed it made sense most people would think of it like that if Kakin preferred to work behind the scenes in the countries they own. “They also have a mafia. That mafia is at war with us now.” 

Canary put the pieces together almost immediately. “And you think it’s your fault?” 

“No,” he replied, quickly. “But that doesn’t mean that me being with them might’ve turned them into targets. It’s not like we’re dealing with a few scattered psychos. This is a whole army we’re talking about.” 

“Why don’t you ask your dad to take them in?” Canary asked. “It’s partly his fault for declaring war on them. Maybe, he’ll let them stay here until the whole thing blows over?”

Killua grimaced. He knew one should never ask for favors from the mafia. It just meant you’d have to pay them back later. If he asked his Dad to take in Gon and the others, it’d be like giving him the leverage to keep him in the family long enough to inherit the business. 

What was he saying? This was Gon, and Kurapika, and Leorio they were talking about. He couldn’t put their lives in danger just because he didn’t want to ask his dad for help. But still . . . was it worth it? Who knew? Maybe this was unrelated. Besides, someone had saved them in that alley. Maybe, they were enough to watch over them. Then again, he had no idea who their saviors were. Kurapika hadn’t mentioned it during their phone call, meaning they probably hadn’t been revealed yet. He wasn’t the type to keep information from others, after all.

“Dammit!” he finally yelled, marching out of his room and down the hallway to his father’s office. He’d figure it out later. Right now, he needed to guarantee his friend’s safety.

. . . 

“They’re not after them because of you,” his father said, bringing the rim of his  _ “WORLD’S BEST DAD”  _ mug to his lips. 

“They’re not?” 

His father shook his head, eyes glued to his laptop like a parent-ignoring teenager. “As I said, the Kakin Empire’s mafia feels it is too powerful to be lowered to something like kidnapping or targeting the son of an opposing mafia head and his friends. You have little power over us. They know this.”

Killua let that information sink in slowly. “But still, they’re being targeted. They weren’t trying to kill them, they were trying to kidnap Gon.”

The current Zoldyck head gave Killua a long stare, and there was a moment where Killua almost saw a father in him. “You really want to keep them safe?” 

He nodded. 

“Then, I will allow them to stay at the mansion until the war comes to an end,” his father said. Killua’s face lit up at the fact, his heart suddenly far lighter than before. “On one condition.” Damn. “You continue your training as heir, and you continue with your regular homeschooling schedule with Illumi.”

Killua shrank back a bit at the request. Memories of blood on tiled floors and gunshots, people begging for their lives right before they’re silenced forever, tears of survivors. They flooded his senses, along with all this ultimatum brought with it if he accepted. Corruption, isolation, he would probably end up losing the very people he was trying to protect. 

But  _ Gon. _ And everyone who’d ever meant anything to either of them. 

Gon being dead, gone forever, all because Killua valued his possible jailbreak more than his friend. But he didn’t. Gon was all that mattered. As long as Gon was alive, he’d be free. Because Gon was more than just his guide to freedom, he was his companion. And freedom meant nothing if you didn’t have someone to share it with.

Damn, what was this shitty poetry he was spouting? At least, it helped him get to a conclusion.

“Okay.”

. . .

The next day, Illumi pulled up to Gon’s apartment. Mito was the one to answer the door. Behind her, stood a gaunt young man with silver hair and large eye bags. He was wearing casual clothing, a jacket and jeans, and a shirt that read  _ “Certified Animal-lover”  _ in large stylized gold letters situated above a logo of a dog. 

“Killua?” Mito said, and Killua finally took in her haggard appearance. With her red hair in disarray, the bags under her eyes even giving her boyfriend’s a run for their money, she looked like she’d pulled several all-nighters and then was hit by a truck, before being brought back to life by some unholy demon. She was still in her pajamas, ones with small, fluffy, red-eyed white cats all over them.

“Where’s Gon?”

“He’s still at the hospital with Leorio. Kurapika should be there, too.” 

Killua turned on his heel. “Keep a lookout for weird people, because they might be trying to kill Gon.” 

“WHAT?” 

. . .

“I’m his friend, I swear!” he insisted, as the receptionist looked down on him with all his judginess. He was a tall, muscular, scary-looking guy with eyebrows that had gone gray, even though the rest of his hair was still dark and slicked back. He also had a stupid goatee that was stupid. A name tag was stuck over one of the pockets in his green receptionist’s uniform.  _ Tsezguerra.  _ What a stupid name. 

The man raised one of his weird eyebrows. “Do you have a verification of your identity?” 

“Identity?” Killua yelled. “I’m fourteen! What the hell do you think I’m gonna do? I just wanna know the fucking room number!” 

“You shouldn’t swear, Killua,” someone berated him. Of course, he recognized the voice immediately, and when he did, his heart cried tears of joy at having found the one person that mattered in the world. Not literally, because, ow, and not completely, because Alluka. They were tied for most important person, okay?

“Gon!” Killua said, turning on his heel and speed-walking up to him. Gon ran to him, because he had no restraint. The boy almost raised his arms to hug him, but then thought better of it and lowered them, because that would be so uncool. That didn’t matter much, though, because Gon tackled him to the ground without a second thought. Because . . . he was Gon and if there was anyone you could count on to give the middle finger to societal pressure, it was Gon.

“You really shouldn’t swear, though,” Gon said, sitting up and moving away from his best friend. Killua grimaced. “Mito says it makes a lot of people uncomfortable, and that as civilized human beings, we should come up with our own original insults instead of depending so much on others.” 

“Oh, shut up, idiot,” he muttered, arms wrapping around Gon again. The other boy happily responded, patting Killua on the back. 

“Yeah, I was worried about you, too.” 

They parted. “Huh, why were you worried? You guys were the ones who were attacked.”

“Kurapika told me you were acting strange,” Gon said, smiling at him. “But you seem alright now.” 

Just when you think the quiet one would keep your anxiety secret, they go and shout it from the rooftops. “Oh right, how’re they doing?” 

Gon shrugged. “Leorio keeps telling us not to worry. He’s getting better bit by bit, but whatever poison they grazed him with was pretty powerful. Kurapika is really angry, but I think deep down he’s just worried about Leorio and hiding it.” 

“Yeah, that’s Kurapika for you,” Killua agreed, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Where’s Leorio’s room?” 

“Oh, it’s on the third floor. We’ll take the elevator,” Gon said, skipping past Tsezguerra and his stupid face. Killua tossed him one last cheeky grin, his eyes screaming,  _ “VICTORY,”  _ as he caught up with Gon.

And they were alone in the elevator, too! This more than made up for the annoying receptionist. Even if they were stuck in a sliding metal compartment where they could possibly die. Honestly, an elevator was a perfect place for an assassin to plan their deaths. 

Killua instinctively shifted closer to Gon. He wasn’t sure what he would do if they were suddenly sent plummeting to their deaths, but the closer the better, right?

“So, is there something you needed to tell us?” Gon asked, as they waited for the elevator to reach the third floor. 

“What do you mean?” The blinking sign over the elevator doors changed from one to two. 

The doors slid open. Gon stepped out. “You wouldn’t come over here so fast otherwise. You would’ve waited at least until noon. Especially since it’s the weekend.” 

Killua wondered when the hell Gon had gained all this info on him. Was he just becoming predictable? That would make things difficult when he rebelled against his family. “I just felt like it, I guess.” 

Gon glared at him, and it was the first time he’d seen Gon use such an expression. “Don’t lie to me, you liar.” 

“What? I’m not lying!” Killua insisted. Finally realizing he was still in the elevator, the boy quickly walked after his dark-haired friend. 

“You are, too,” Gon replied, pointing at him, furiously, his hand wavering slightly. “I know a liar when I hear one, and you, Killua Zoldyck, are a filthy liar.” He seemed to reconsider, taking in Killua’s face. “Pretty. A pretty liar. But still a liar.”

That damn blush was coming up again, he knew it. His face, well, his whole being, felt like it had just been left out in the sun too long. In the desert. During the summer. So, safe to say, it felt like a bad case of sunburn, except the sun was compliments given to him by Gon Freecss.

Kurapika and Leorio were both hanging out in Leorio’s private hospital room, paid for by Mito’s boyfriend, complete with chalk-white walls and tacky posters and a flat-screen TV put there to distract you from how much it sucks to be in the hospital. They were both bickering again, though about what, it was hard to tell at this point. 

“All I’m saying is that if aliens did exist, I see no reason why they would be more advanced that we are,” Kurapika said. He was currently seated in an armchair near Leorio’s bedside, dressed in a black and white striped shirt and dark jeans. That air of superiority was clouding around him again, but as usual, the fair-haired man didn’t notice. “And for another, them leaving would be unnecessary seeing that the Earth is a bit of a mess right now. There’s also no telling if they could even survive in Earth’s atmosphere.” 

Leorio, not knowing that sometimes silence was the best answer, continued to speak. “But they might. Maybe they’re already here. Maybe it didn’t go through all the things the human race went through and could go through evolution without being cut off a bunch of times by natural disasters.” 

“That’s assuming they operate similarly to humans in the first place ,” Kurapika said. 

“Weren’t you guys talking about what to order for dinner?” Gon asked, not quite understanding what was going on, but certain it wasn’t about food. 

Kurapika and Leorio exchanged a look, before starting to laugh for whatever reason. The power of friendship, ladies and gentleman. It made you a crazy person. 

Kurapika sighed. “It seems we got a bit sidetracked. It was nice of you to stop by, Killua.” 

Killua sniffed, shoving his hands in his pockets again. “Yeah, obviously. I wasn’t about to let the Old Man die on me.” 

“Hey, I’m not old, or dead,” Leorio refuted, glad to win at least one argument.

Killua grinned, the tension deep within finally releasing him. They were all okay. Almost like nothing had happened.

But something did happen, and to make sure it didn’t happen again, Killua needed to tell them.

“My family’s agreed to let you stay at the mansion,” he said. They gave him confused looks because blurting strange things out in the middle of a regular conversation was bound to raise a few brows. Killua averted his blue eyes, shrugging to somehow keep the anxiety at bay. He was a very anxious child at heart. “You and whoever else you want to bring along. Dad thinks you might be being targeted by the Kakin Empire’s Mafia, and is willing to take you all in until the problem’s, uh, taken care of.”

An awkward silence fell over them. Usually, at least one would have something to say, but right now, it was all shifting eyes and attempts to gather some sort of proper statement in response to Killua’s offer. Needless to say, none of them had ever been very fond of Killua’s hellish family, so it was even harder to hand them a compliment, no matter how indirect. 

“How,” Leorio began, clearing his throat, “nice of him?”

Gon let out a small noise of approval, though his eyes were still focused on Killua, searching for something. 

In the meantime, Kurapika had already come to the worst natural conclusion. “What did he want in return?” Kurapika’s brown eyes bore into him, and Killua knew lying was futile when there were two human lie detectors in the room. Now, if he simply said he would prefer not to say, Kurapika would let it go, but then Gon would want to figure it all out even more, which would then lead to a very long, drawn-out battle of wits as Gon tried to break down his defenses. 

“He wants me to leave school.” Killua refused to look at them, to say any more with the lump forming in his throat. “And continue my studies with Illumi.” 

“Screw that shit.” 

“Gon!” Kurapika reprimanded. “Language.” 

The boy ignored him, stalking up to Killua and looking him in the eyes. Killua leaned away, trying to evade his persistent stare to no avail.

“Do you want to drop out of school?” he asked, completely serious, and Killua wondered if he was completely aware of their situation.

“It’s not about what I want,” he snapped back. It was easier this way. Easier to believe he had no choice, and Gon always, always had to remind him that he did, and that irked something within him. His common sense, perhaps, because deep down he wanted to believe Gon, and that’d be stupid of him. “Don’t you get it? They’re after you!” 

“So?” Gon challenged. 

Killua grabbed his collar, ignoring the exasperated looks on Kurapika and Leorio’s faces. “So?! Do you wanna be killed, idiot?” 

“No, but I don’t want you to become a mafia member, either!” Gon’s lips pulled into a firm line. He was standing on his toes now to appear taller than Killua. Also, he was still holding onto his collar, so that might make it hard for him to stand normally, considering Killua was a few inches taller. “You’re  _ my  _ friend! And I’m not letting your stupid family take you away because of their stupid blackmail! If you’re gonna go, you’re gonna have to do better than that!” 

Inside, Killua was fuming. He was fuming on the outside, too. Just all around furious at Gon’s audacity. “Idiot! What’s going to happen if you die? It’s not like it’ll matter anymore!” 

“Yes, it will!” Gon shouted back, shoving him away. Killua staggered back a bit but managed to regain his balance. “What about Alluka? I thought you wanted to see the world with her? But if you walk away now, neither of you will ever leave!” 

Killua froze. Alluka. That was right. He wouldn’t be able to protect her, to take her around the world, if he agreed to this. They’d always be watched by someone. 

That wasn’t guaranteed, though. They could figure out a way to escape later on. Maybe, once he got the company, he could sell it, or something, and get out of the mafia out of sheer uselessness. He’d never get Gon back. 

“Illumi’s waiting outside for us,” he said. Then, he headed for the door. As he reached for the brass handle, arms wrapped around his waist, and somehow pulled him away from the door. Spiky hair came into his view. “GON!” Killua tried to struggle out of his grip, glaring at the other two occupants of the room. “A little help here?” 

Kurapika had his brilliant-plan-in-formulation face on. The one where he stared off into space, though in this case, he was staring at his phone, with two fingers cupping his chin. “Gon has a point.” 

“He what?” Killua asked. Both boys stopped struggling now, though half of Gon’s face was still buried in Killua’s back. The Zoldyck heir gave him a sharp jab in the stomach with the elbow, and the young Freecss promptly let go, massaging the spot where he’d hit him. 

The young teacher gave him a stern look, sighed, and started to go through his slightly convoluted plan. “Are any of you familiar with the Cemetery Building?”

“On seventh avenue?” Leorio asked. He looked on board with this plan. Then again, he’s always had this unwavering belief in Kurapika’s abilities. 

“Every year, the mafia heads from all around the world gather there for an auction. This year, the four major mafia families from Kakin are attending as well, along with their major benefactor, the Fourth Prince Tserriednich.”

Gon punched his fist into the palm of his hand, a gesture that meant he’d just had an epiphany. Whether it was a smart or stupid epiphany was yet to be seen. “We’ll storm the auction and force them to back down!” 

“Not quite.” 

“Oh.” Gon rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. 

Kurapika gave him a fond smile, nonetheless. “One of us, and I most definitely mean myself, will infiltrate it, and then they’ll try to get to the Fourth Prince by any means necessary.”

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” Leorio asked. Faith by miles, he might have had, but that didn’t mean that Kurapika was immune to his anxiety.

“Of course, it’s the mafia.” 

Leorio grimaced at the careless tone of voice. “Oi, don’t you think going there alone is a bit reckless? I’m not just gonna let you charge into battlefield solo.” 

“I won’t be going alone,” Kurapika replied. “There’s someone I’ve been meaning to drag into this as well.” 

Killua had a bad feeling about this, but that was a normal sensation at this point. Perhaps, it was nothing.

. . .


	7. The Obligatory Kurapika Chapter

**Chapter Six:**

**The Obligatory Kurapika Chapter**

The underground auction was slated for the twenty-second of next month, taking place at the same time as the regular auction. He’d need to counterfeit two passes before then, pick out the right clothes, and make sure his ‘partner’ would agree to his plan. It’d be best to dig up some more information on the Fourth Prince as well. There was no telling what someone like that might have up his sleeve. 

Kurapika placed a fist over his heart. The metal of the earring in his hand bit into his flesh. It had been so long since he’d been plunged into that world, so long since he’d left it all behind. The idea of going back there, shaking the bloody hands of the guests, looking them in the eye and smiling, hoping they didn’t know what was running through his head at that moment. It made the bile rise up in his throat, the smell of blood wracking his sentence, even though the little balcony he was on was free of the familiar red. 

He breathed in, pulled his knees up to his chin, and breathed out, as he looked out towards the night sky, bright with city lights. It was part of the reason he moved there. The city never slept. It was a perfect match. 

Dark fabric enveloped him without even a warning. He recognized it as one of Leorio’s jackets, and tilted his head up to give the taller man a questioning look.

“You catch colds way to easily,” he murmured, eyes averted, as he sat down in the other sun lounger. “It gets really bothersome, you know.” 

Kurapika smirked, pulling the jacket closer around himself, “how sweet of you.” 

“I try,” he replied. They both fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, enjoying the peace, the calm before the storm, when Kurapika would have to risk his life. “So, can you tell me who you’re taking with you now?” 

The smaller man heaved a sigh. “I already told you that it’s a secret until I get them on board.” 

“Oh come on, what’s the harm in telling your best friend?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Kurapika said. “I’d rather keep it a secret for now.”

Leorio pouted, copying Kurapika’s pose with his chin atop his knees. “Always so secretive. It gets really annoying, you know?”

“Yeah,” Kurapika replied, falling back onto the lounger. “I know.”

. . .

Kurapika steeled himself, as the library doors came into view. He’d been mentally preparing himself for this all weekend, of course, but nothing could quite ready you for something like begging your worst enemy for his help. He told himself it didn’t matter, that he should put aside his pride for the good of his friends, but that was easier said than done.

He bowed his head, his hand just centimeters from the handle. Maybe, he could come back tomorrow? 

“Gon! Wake up!” 

Kurapika’s head shot up at what was unmistakably Killua’s voice. He burst through the door without a second thought, caught sight of Killua and Gon at the circulation desk, a few of Lucilfer’s Spiders shuffling about the library. 

“What are you two doing here?” he hissed. 

“We work here now,” Gon replied. “Did you know that our library had over 100,000 books?” 

Kurapika grit his teeth, took a long, calming breath, and spoke in a frigidly even voice. “Why are you working here?” 

Gon laughed, nervously, “it’s a long story -” 

“No, it’s not,” Killua pitched in, flatly. “Gon wants to buy this super expensive game made by his dad, but he has no money, so we went to the career center to find jobs. Mr. Lucilfer happened to be there and offered us positions at the library.” 

_ Lucilfer. _ That bastard. With his smug face and gray morality, corrupting the youth with his poisonous mentality. He was a shame to teachers everywhere.

“So, is Mr. Lucilfer the one we need?” 

Kurapika glanced at the silver-haired boy, but said nothing, instead turning to one of the members of Lucilfer’s gang. “Where is he?” 

The young man pointed to the office on the second floor of the library, sandwiched between two sprawling shelves of books. A spiral staircase was situated behind the circulation desk, gleaming, black metal curved into ivy leaves. What spectacular taste. That alone proved it wasn’t Lucilfer’s addition. The man’s taste was equivalent to that of a, well, Kurapika wasn’t sure what, but it was really bad was what he was trying to say . 

“He’s in a bit of a mourning period right now, so just try not to make any sudden movements, ‘kay?” the bubbly Spider said.

Mourning period? What a ridiculous notion. Evil didn’t mourn. 

That theory was tossed right out the window as soon as Kurapika entered the office. The sorrow was almost tangible, like the rain before the storm, as the air became heavier and denser. Though that might be because all the curtains in the room had been shut. Chrollo sat at the desk, his forehead unwilling to leave the mahogany, even as the door slammed closed behind Kurapika. Mourning, it was, then. For a second, Kurapika allowed himself to bask in the glory of his enemy’s misery, then he found it was only making him feel rather horrible, and decided to ask him what was wrong. You know, in the way that only Kurapika could.

What a mistake that was. 

It took Chrollo a good fifteen minutes to finish his story, all told in that sorrowful, quiet tone. The sort you’d imagine the ghost of a tragic victim to have.

This wouldn’t do. He needed the Lucilfer he hated for this mission, the one who let people die mercilessly, watched the light fade from people’s eyes countless times, not this mess of a human being. Granted, Lucilfer was always a mess of a human being, but today he was exceptionally so. 

“So, you’re saying the mafia killed two of your best friends?” he asked. Lucilfer nodded, solemnly, as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “You know, I’m trying to stop the mafia now, and I would totally be on board with you helping.” Lucilfer’s interest seemed to be peaked. “But for that to work, I’m gonna need you to dial down the sad bits.” 

Lucilfer’s grimace deepened, and for a second, Kurapika feared he would burst into tears. He wasn’t very good at dealing with fallen enemies. 

“Alright,” he sighed, raking his hand through his blond hair, “maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, but honestly, you sort of had it coming with all the murdering you’ve done.” 

“Hey, I’m redeemed,” Lucilfer insisted. 

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean your crimes against humanity just fade away,” Kurapika replied, still not quite believing he was having a civil conversation with Chrollo Lucilfer. Maybe, not believing was better. It didn’t make him want to strangle the man as much. “Look, can you get yourself together by the end of the month?” 

“I can try.” 

Better than nothing. 

The blond glanced towards the clock. “Alright, I’ll be back soon. I have to get back to class now. We’ll discuss the plan later.” 

Kurapika was met with silence, gave himself a little pep talk about how vital this alliance was, and headed back towards the door.

“Hey,” Chrollo spoke, suddenly. “You hate me, do you not? Why ask for the help of your enemy?”

“It’s precisely because we’re enemies that I can trust you with this,” he replied, his back turned away from Lucilfer still. 

He chuckled this time, and Kurapika was glad he was back to the person he hated. Pity was such a hopeless feeling. “You need someone who has no emotional investment in you. I do hope you’re not planning on offing yourself?” 

“Not planning on it, no,” Kurapika responded.

There was silence, one Kurapika was quite familiar with. “I see.” 

“If you start to care, I’m kicking you off the team,” the blond warned.

Chrollo chuckled again. “Don’t worry. I have no interest in what happens to you, as honored as I am to be serving one of the famous Kurtas.”

“You seem to be back to your old self.”

“Yes, well, we can’t all be perpetually suffering like some people.” 

Kurapika glared at him. He sat at his desk, unflinching at the menacing gaze. “How much do you know about me?”

The man grinned, his eyes swimming with mirth and amusement, because if there was one thing Chrollo Lucilfer enjoyed, it was getting found out. “I know you are the son of the late Pavi and Yuka Kurta, heads of Kurta Inc., also affiliated with the Kakin Empire’s mafia. After finding out where their real fortunes lay,  you ran away, only to come back to news of their death. After that, you attempted to build a new life for yourself, far from the mafia. Unfortunately for you, as soon as you saw someone with a similar plight, you couldn’t help but assist them.” 

“You act as if you had nothing to do with it,” Kurapika said, bitterly. 

For once, the man seemed confused, his head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed a bit. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You were the ones who killed them. It all adds up. Your methods and style were all over them,” Kurapika said. This garnered no reaction from the man, just the same mild confusion, and Kurapika felt a bit of his anger boil over. Before he could scream or punch anything, though, he was stopped by one simple statement. 

“I didn’t kill your parents.”

And Kurapika’s world crumbled. Guess the foundation wasn’t laid out very well.

. . .

“Gnnghhhh.” 

“That bad?” Leorio asked. They were seated in Leorio’s office now, eating lunch, or at least trying to, but Kurapika had lost his appetite. Or rather, he never had an appetite to start with. “What happened?”

Kurapika didn’t answer, so as usual, Leorio kept talking, hoping he’d respond at some point.

“You said it was Lucilfer. Did he, like, not wanna help?” he asked. Kurapika stayed silent, but oh-so-slightly shook his head. His face stayed buried in his arms. “Did he give you an ultimatum, or some shit?” Again, no. “Did he confess his love for you?” 

“Ew, no!” Kurapika said, raising his head, face twisted in disgust. “God, he just told me he wasn’t the one who killed my parents.” 

“And that’s . . . bad?” 

Kurapika leaned back in his chair. “I just . . . I thought I knew already. I hated them all this time for something they didn’t do. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still hate them, and they give me plenty of reasons to hate them as well. It’s just, I’m back at square one. Back to not knowing who to blame.”

“So, maybe, that’s a good thing. You can let it go now.”

Kurapika raised a doubtful eyebrow. 

“Or not.” 

The blond gave the chair a spin, watching the ceiling turn into a swirl of motion, and with the motion, came a solution. 

“Of course!” he proclaimed. Leorio nearly fell out of his chair. Kurapika paid him no heed. He stood and walked out of his office. “Thanks for the lunch, Leo.”

“You’re welcome?” came the disgruntled response. 

. . . One Month Later . . .

“You remember the plan?” he asked, as the taxi pulled up next to his and Leorio’s apartment building. 

The dark-haired man recited the plan perfectly. “You’ll go in, seduce -” 

“Talk -” 

“My apologies. You’ll try to talk up the Fourth Prince and get him to fulfill your requests, all under two hours.”

“And?” 

“I’m not allowed to touch any of the treasure. An unnecessary clause in our argument, honestly. After all, I’m already held down by Netero’s contract. I can’t even harm a fly. It’s rather vexing.” 

Kurapika rolled his eyes, as the two of them slipped into the backseat of the taxi. “Indeed, having to be a decent person must be hard for you.”

“You have no idea.” 

This was going to be a long night. It had better be worth it. And, as long as he got what he needed, it would be. 

“So, is that Giorgio?” Chrollo asked, his light voice breaking through the tense atmosphere. 

“Huh?” 

“Your suit,” he clarified, gesturing towards his own pristine clothes. 

Kurapika looked down at the garments he’d meticulously chosen for this occasion. “Yeah, I thought the more expensive the better. It cost me half my salary, though. What about yours?” 

“Same.”

“Oh, nice. Did you buy it yourself, or borrowed . . .” 

“You could say I borrowed it,” he replied, conversationally.

It took Kurapika a full three seconds to fully comprehend what he meant by “borrowed.” This completely ruined the previously civil atmosphere, as Kurapika remembered he hated this bastard and wouldn’t be opposed to seeing his head on a spike. Chrollo didn’t seem to realize his contempt, or perhaps he didn’t care, because for the rest of the ride he filled him in on the daily life of him and his stupid Spider Troupe.

. . .

“And on Kortopi’s birthday, we went to the park. He was so adorable. He’s the one who made our IDs for tonight, by the way -” 

“Oh look! We’re here,” Kurapika declared, hoping to cut his companion’s ramblings off for good this time. The Cemetery Building towered above them. The building itself was rather bland, no different from the rest of the surrounding structures. It could pass off as one of those generic government buildings. 

Kurapika zipped out of the taxi and headed for the main doors. Chrollo followed, silently, and the few times Kurapika looked back, he caught the innocent little smile he was giving everyone. Women blushed, men too, apparently the evil demon lord aesthetic was in now. He would never understand this culture. 

They neared the doors to the auction hall. Two large men in suits and stereotypical mafia-like fedoras stood in front of it, their sunglasses resting on the bridge of their noses. The two of them peered down at Kurapika and Lucilfer with hostile expressions on their already intimidating faces.

“This area is off limits.” 

“We’re maintenance,” Kurapika replied, hoping they hadn’t changed the password at the last minute. Shalnark had checked an hour beforehand, but you never knew with these things. 

The two men asked for their IDs, discreetly checked their list, and let them through. 

“You’d think such a large event would have better security,” Lucilfer belittled. He was belittling the bloody mafia, mind you. 

“Stop talking.” 

“Yes, sir.”

They found their seats, Kurapika five rows down from the entrance, Chrollo a bit closer. It didn’t take Kurapika long to find the Fourth Prince in the crowd. As if on cue, Tserriednich’s head whipped around, their eyes meeting, and Kurapika held his gaze for a second, before turning away and focusing on the stage. Or, at least trying to act like he was focused on the stage. There were forty possibly scenarios that could arise from that action alone. Now that they’ve maintained eye contact for a few seconds, Tserriednich’s strange interests would be piqued. It was another matter entirely if he’d approach Kurapika. 

And so, Kurapika spent the next hour of the auction sneaking glances at the Fourth Prince, some of which were returned, and wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this alive. Of course, he had a backup plan in case he didn’t, but what had once been a fifty-fifty game of chance had suddenly become a 5 percent survival rate. 

Kurapika clenched his jaw, strengthened his resolve, and practiced his breathing. It’d be worth it. All of it. If he found out who killed his family, if he managed to put a stop to the war, or at least delay it. 

“That concludes the auction, everyone!” the announcer shouted from the stage. “Thank you all for participating! Please leave in an orderly fashion! Have a good rest of your night! Please stay for refreshments at our after party!” 

Here we go. 

Not a minute after he’s crossed the threshold of the auction hall, Tserriednich approached him. 

“Your Highness,” Kurapika spoke, forcing his voice to be surprised. The Fourth Prince’s fair hair was parted in the center, revealing a large brow, and dark, cruel eyes. His face showed none of that cruelty, his posture casual and friendly. 

“Please,” he raised his hand as Kurapika moved to bow, “don’t. We’re on equal footing here. I would really prefer to not be the Prince outside my Kingdom.” 

Kurapika smiled - what Leorio called the ‘heartthrob’ smile - and altered his voice to match the Prince’s tone. “That’s surprisingly gracious of you.” 

“Surprisingly?” he repeated. 

The shorter man feigned an apologetic look. “Ah, I’m sorry, I mean, from what I’d expected, you seem a lot kinder than the rumors.” 

He laughed. “Rumors are only spread by enemies, remember that, Mr. . . .”

“Call me Kurapika.” 

“A lovely name.” 

“Thank you,” Kurapika replied. 

The Prince snapped his fingers for one of the after-party waiters to come over, and took two wine glasses off the silver tray they offered. Kurapika accepted, though he had no intent on drinking it.

“So, Kurapika, is there a reason you were burning holes into my skull this evening?” he asked, mirthfully.

Kurapika answered with the tone of someone teetering on the edge of laughter. “I’m flattered you noticed.” He altered his motions again to appear more serious. “I have a proposition that might be of interest to you.”

Tserriednich scrutinized him, eyes analyzing his face, every telltale movement from the slight twitch in his hand, to the stiffness in his shoulders. “I see. May I suggest a more private locale?”

‘ _ No. No. No,’  _ screamed his self-preservation, but Kurapika was never one to listen.

“Of course.” 

. . .


	8. The Obligatory Leorio Chapter

**Chapter Seven:**

**Obligatory Leorio Chapter**

The airport. Why did they need to go to the airport? If Kurapika was planning on ending the war. 

_ And if he wasn’t. _

He was, dammit. There’s no way he wouldn’t. Kurapika never did something halfway, especially in situations where halfway meant death. 

_ Death. _

_ Death. _

_ Kurapika might be dead. _

That was ridiculous. Nothing in the plan he ran through to them alluded to death. If it wasn’t in Kurapika’s plan, it wasn’t going to happen.

“Hey, Leorio,” Gon spoke from the backseat, somehow breaking through the roar of Leorio’s own thoughts, “have you called Kurapika?”

“He said two hours,” Leorio replied. “We can’t call him before then.”

Gon crossed his arms and pouted, “I hate waiting. What if he needs our help?” 

“Like two kids and an old man would be of any help,” Killua muttered. His arms were crossed too but in that coping-device sort of way, not the temper-tantrum sort of way. He was probably worried. 

He’d better be worried. Kurapika was risking his neck so Killua wouldn’t have to. He should at least worry a little. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Leorio reassured. “It’s Kurapika, remember? I’m sure he’s turned the tables on them all by now. He’ll be showing up to meet us at the airport, you’ll see.”

“Why the airport, though?” Killua prompted. “If he’s not planning for us to make a run for it in the end.” 

“Why would we run, though? Isn’t it safer to stay in the same place? Maybe he just wanted a good place to meet?” Gon suggested.

Leorio wanted to believe that. He did. But he didn’t.

. . .

They reached the airport half an hour later, caught sight of a lone Lucilfer, and Leorio felt his heart sink at the absence of his best friend.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Lucilfer stood, brushing himself off, flattening the creases in his suit jacket. “Our plane is about to leave.”

Leorio raised one of his arms to keep the boys from approaching the man. He stared at them, coolly, not taken aback in the slightest by their suspicion. Leorio’s free hand rolls into a fist. “Where’s Kurapika?”

“I’m not sure,” Lucilfer replied. 

“What do you mean?” Leorio asked, gruffly, his heart pounding loud in his ears. 

“I don’t know what Kurapika’s condition is, though I’d assume he is no longer with us.” Through it all, Lucilfer’s countenance did not change. He felt nothing for the death of Leorio’s friend.  _ No. Not death.  _ The _condition_ of Kurapika. 

“You just  _ left  _ him there?” Leorio snapped, taking a step forward now. The boys said nothing. Gon was frozen in his place. Killua cast nervous glances between the three of them. 

“I did.” 

Leorio closed the distance between them, his arm pulled back, right before his fist collided with the other man’s face. Nothing changed. Lucilfer remained calm. He hadn’t even tried to avoid the punch. 

“It was Kurapika’s plan, you know,” Lucilfer said. “He never really planned on making it out of there alive. Not when he learned about the Prince’s hobbies.” 

“What hobbies?” Leorio asked, his voice trembling, though from what he wasn’t sure anymore.

“Murder, among other things. He made an art out of it. Didn’t Kurapika tell you this?” It didn’t take much for Lucilfer to read his expression. Leorio had never been a good actor. “I see. Well, given your reaction I can see why he didn’t. I believe we have a flight to catch.” 

Leorio shoved the man away, heading to the exits. 

“Where are you going?” Killua asked, raising his arms, exasperatedly. “You know it’s useless. Kurapika might be dead already.” 

“I’m not gonna buy that until I see a body.” 

“Leorio,” Gon caught his arm, “let’s go.” 

“What?” 

Gon stared at Lucilfer, and Leorio what he was seeing. “It’s what Kurapika would want us to do.” 

“Kid, do you even get what you’re saying?” Leorio asked, glaring down at him. “It doesn’t matter what Kurapika wants when Kurapika needs our help.” 

“But he doesn’t.” Gon stared back at him. “He needs us to stay safe, and this is his way of doing it. He’s bought us time. Let’s not waste it, okay? For Kurapika’s sake.” 

Leorio looked around his party of four, once a party of five, at solemn looks and hopelessness. 

It was funny. The one time he listened to Kurapika, he wasn’t there to rub it in. 

“Alright,” he agreed, defeated, “but don’t come running to me when Kurapika’s ghost comes back to haunt us.”

That earned a few weak smiles, but he knew none of them held any weight. 

And in the back of his head, even as the left, a small voice didn’t believe Kurapika was gone. Not for good. But they say the first stage is denial.

  
  
  
  


**. Fin .**


End file.
